


The Paths We Tread

by AlibiofaBleedingHeart



Series: Oaths Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Adult Content, Battle, Betrayal, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Cursebreaking, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Golden Trio, Horror, Magical Artifacts, Major Illness, Rape, Sexual Assault, Suicide, Treason, Trio Friendship - Freeform, Violence, War, Warding, Whatever Bad Thing You Can Imagine Is Likely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 179,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlibiofaBleedingHeart/pseuds/AlibiofaBleedingHeart
Summary: “They want her dead, so I want every last one of them dead. It’s only fair.”In the aftermath of the Ministry debacle, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and their friends and classmates struggle to deal with the consequences of the war as it begins in earnest. The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches - but not alone.AU after OotP, WIP. Ensemble cast with no true main character, Golden-Trio centric. Heavy emphasis on the Weasleys and Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Lupin.Book 1 of 3 in the Oaths Universe.





	1. Small Steps Spiraling Down

**A/N:** Assuming I'm successful, this will be an epic-length story, AU after OotP. It encompasses the trio's 6th year and continues onward through the rest of the war. This is book one of three. There will be character death, abuse, assault, and many other triggers. If these will cause you true discomfort, please stop reading here. One of my biggest goals in this story is to deal with true consequences and true reactions to abuse, trauma, and war. There will be moments of humor and good things that happen, but this is NOT a light-hearted tale. 

Please review with any thoughts/comments. This is beta'd only by myself, so any spelling or glaring grammatical errors that you notice, please go ahead and point out. (Eventually, I'll need a Brit-picker, I suppose, as I'm an American gal.)

~*~ALIBI

 

_Somewhere in England_

_July 10,_ _1996_

 

" _Exxxcellent,"_ the sibilant voice echoed in the darkness. Pettigrew trembled as he knelt before his lord.  The Dark Lord's eyes were closed, a gentle smile on his face. The giant snake slithered past, brushing against Pettigrew's back, and he grimaced as his stomach turned.

Images flashed through his mind, him turned into a rat and running in the darkness, snarling and hissing echoing behind him from different directions – hunted by his old friend from one direction, by his master's pet from another.

He shook his head as another voice brought him back to present, Lucius Malfoy's drawling tones echoing through the darkened room.

"I quite thought so, my Lord," the disgraced aristocrat murmured softly. He stood by the fire, his face half-turned away from the Dark Lord.  The vain man's blond hair gleamed in the firelight. It had been perhaps two hours since he had been broken from Azkaban, the Dementors quickly eliminating all human guards. He had gone to Voldemort first, of course, then straight into the bath before speaking with anyone else. He stood regal and proud, a muscle in his jaw twitching every so often.

"With the _allies_ of Potter eliminated," he continued, "the boy will blame himself and spiral into depression. Draco tells me the boy is prone to melancholy and self-loathing as it is, it shan't take much to push him over the edge. A handful of his friends dead, and with messages left for him, should do the trick just fine."

"And you see no place," Dolohov questioned sharply, "for any of his friends among our ranks? Children they are, certainly, but some are... _talented._ " A sick smile twisted his darkened features, and his tongue darted out and wet his lips quickly. Pettigrew suppressed a shudder. The man had been obsessed with young Hermione Granger since that day in the Ministry, speaking often of how _musical_ he thought her screams. He wanted, quite desperately, to have her in his grasp again.

Malfoy sneered. "Which would you take? Only the Weasley brats and Longbottom are of acceptable stock, and even then, their parents are the enemy. Besides, they are," he added in a tone of grudging respect, " _loyal_ little things. Only the Imperius curse would sway them. And unwilling servants are _vexing_. "

Dolohov made a noise of dissent as Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. "Potter has a gift for inspiring loyalty," he said simply. "His father was much the same, would you not agree, Wormtail?" He smirked down at the cowering man, his red eyes flashing.

 _James_ , Wormtail thought brokenly, shaking his head. "No," Voldemort continued. "I suppose you wouldn't know much about loyalty, would you, my traitorous friend?"

Red eyes glared across the room to where Malfoy and Dolohov stood. "Capture the Mudblood and the Weasley girl alive," he instructed. "I have my uses for them, but afterwards, we shall use them to send Potter a more – _poignant_ message. Exterminate the rest, every last family member of his _Inner Circle_. Be ready to move on Halloween." The man's thin lips quirked and he smiled again.  "That seems like a fitting time." 

Malfoy nodded sharply and Dolohov grinned. Both men swept from the room, Malfoy whipping Pettigrew with his cloak as he passed.

Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter woke with a start.

 

* * *

 

_Granger Household_

_London, England_

 

Being home felt strange.

Hermione sat curled in her window seat, a book propped open on her knees. The only source of light was a small ornate lamp sitting on her bedside table, and the only sound, the steady rain that fell outside the window. Night would fall soon, and she hadn't seen the sun peek out once all day.

She shivered, pulling her light shawl closer around her shoulders, and leaned her forehead against the glass. Pain flared in her midsection again and she grimaced, taking slow, deep breaths as she fought the suddenly increasing heat in her veins.

Ironic, really, that when Dolohov had attacked her, he had gone for her blood. The Entrail-Expelling curse, while nasty and lethal if he'd been successful, was the less insidious thing he had done to her. Not for the first time, she questioned her decision to keep the boys ( _her boys_ , part of her mind cried) in the dark.

 _You should_ _ **tell**_ **,** her traitorous mind whispered. _They have a right to know you're going to -_

"Hermione?"

She turned her head slowly, the action jarring her neck and causing her to wince. Her mother stood in the doorway, that ever-present look of sadness and fear on her face. Emma Granger, Hermione reflected, had never been good at hiding her thoughts. Finally, her parents were beginning to understand what their daughter faced, what she had walked into when she joined the wizarding world all those years before.

A sneer formed across the face of the man standing at her mother's right shoulder. The sallow man stared straight into her eyes as if he could hear her self-pitying diatribe. With a slight flinch, she forced down her pain and fear, and straightened her spine, her chin lifting and a slight – though forced – smile teasing at the corner of her lips. A flash of something almost like approval lit Snape's black eyes.

The potions master stepped around the two women still hovering in the doorway, crossing the room to sit at Hermione's desk. He reached into his crossbody bag and began pulling out flask after flask, and Hermione forced her face to remain blank as she watched him set each one carefully on the wooden surface. The rain began lashing harder at the windows as he retrieved the tenth vial, and her mother and Madam Pomfrey stepped fully into the room.

The two women shared a not-so-subtle glance of concern, and Emma sat gingerly on the corner of Hermione's bed as Madam Pomfrey knelt before the teen. The matron drew her wand and began murmuring incantations under her breath, numbers appearing and floating in the air around them. As she pressed her hand to Hermione's forehead, feeling for fever or chill, she and Snape frowned at the numbers shimmering around her form.

"The toxicity isn't decreasing," Pomfrey muttered as Snape rose from his chair, flicking his wand and making an IV setup appear in the room. Hermione grimaced, shrugging out of her shawl and rolling up her sleeve, as her mother gave her a watery smile.

"But it hasn't risen," Snape replied smoothly, giving Hermione, and then Emma, a pointed look. " _Something_ we're doing is working, at least in part."

"The transfusions?" Emma Granger asked quietly, and Hermione scoffed under her breath. Her parents would _**both**_ prefer to believe that it was the blood transfusions that were combating her condition, as it seemed much more 'normal' to them. They could understand it, unlike all the charms and potions. Idly, she wondered if they would still be comforted if they knew all that was added to the blood that was being given her.

As if on cue, Snape smirked slightly, picking up the small vial which held only slightly glittering, transparent liquid. With a steady hand, he poured three drops into the IV bag, followed by a ruby red, viscous liquid. Leaning forward, he attached one end of the IV to Hermione's arm, then tapped his wand to the bag. As was now a regular practice, Hermione conjured a mirror to float in front of her face, so she could watch the transfusion begin to do its work.

She was hideous, she thought blankly, as the tingling began in her arm. Her face was tinged with blue, her veins all standing out in stark relief against her skin. Glancing down at her arm, she watched the progression of the fluids through her veins, the slight golden light emanating from within her skin. Slowly, it coursed throughout her body, the blue tinge fading and her veins, while still visible, now less prominent under her slightly-warmed flesh.

All in all, the process took roughly twenty minutes. Hermione sat perfectly still, watching her face in the mirror. Slowly, her eyes turned back from the bloodshot red they had been, to her normal coffee-brown. She ignored the soft pings of magic as the numbers floating around her form began to drop, she ignored her mother's soft whispering with Pomfrey; all but her skin regaining warmth and color escaped her notice.

When the IV bag was empty and the glow had faded, it was Snape who gently removed the IV tube from her arm and vanished the contraption. Pomfrey bustled around her, taking reading after reading, before finally proclaiming the transfusion a success yet again. The matron handed the teen a small vial from Snape's collection, and she knocked the potion back with a cringe. Instantly, the lingering fuzziness in her head began to clear.

Her task complete, the mediwitch patted Hermione's hand gently, then turned and left the room, Emma hesitating only a moment before following. The moment they had gone, Snape pointed his wand at the door and closed it with a sharp _thud_.

Hermione was silent for several moments, but finally, she spoke. One hand toying with the edge of her shawl, now wrapped around her again, she said softly, "I'm not ready for this."

Snape resumed his seat at her desk, watching her with dark eyes, seemingly considering his response. Finally, he offered, "You could tell them. Fools though they are, much as they vex me, they would _support_ you." He had an expression on his face as if he couldn't believe what he had just said, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh – somehow, he managed to make _support_ sound like a dirty word.

"I don't want anyone's pity," she said staunchly. "Madam Pomfrey and my parents, Professor McGonagall, they're all bad enough. I can't bear - "

She trailed off despondently, and Snape said nothing. With a sigh, she rubbed at her eyes tiredly, and Snape let out an uncomfortable cough at the sign of weakness.

"To be truthful, news of your infirmity spreading would be disastrous," he murmured finally. "Yet the energy you will have to expend to maintain the glamours – "

"I can handle it," she replied stubbornly, and the corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-grin.

"Yes," he replied, "I daresay you can. I simply wish - "

"No!" she said sharply. "I've just told you, I want NO pity."

This time, he did smile. Somehow, even the well-meaning look appeared cruel on his face. "The dreaded potions master, feeling pity for a Gryffindor brat?" he murmured snidely, and Hermione chuckled again. "Very well, practice," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione took a deep breath, nodded, and raised her wand. With a flick of her wrist and several whispered incantations, the last visible traces of her veins vanished. Her eyes brightened and the bags disappeared from underneath them. Only her hair and nails still showed any signs of ill-health, her nails without shine and her hair limp and, as always, slightly frizzy. She jabbed her wand this time, and her hair took on a slight bounce and shine, and smoothed slightly, though still fraying at the ends. She brought back her mirror, eyeing herself critically.

"Well done," Snape said softly. "See how long you can maintain it. Owl me when it drops. And have Tonks and Shacklebolt give you some suggestions for improving the Glamour when they arrive."

Hermione nodded absently, still staring in the mirror. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, and Snape clasped her shoulder lightly as he stood. His movement startled her and she raised her eyes, smiling sadly at the man who, these days like so many others, was responsible for saving her life. "Thank you," she whispered, and Snape scoffed.

"Thank me when we've found a cure." With one last, sharp glance, he turned on his heel and vanished.

Alone again, Hermione turned back on her windowseat, pulled her knees back up to her chest, and propped her book back open. Leaning her head against the window once more, she closed her eyes and listened to the rain.

 

* * *

 

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St. Catchpole_

_July 11, 1996_

 

Severus Snape appeared on a dusty stretch of dirt road, looking up at the most ramshackle house he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing. Shifting his cross-body bag, he stood and scowled a few moments before he began walking toward the front door. He hated these thrice-weekly visits, but fortunately, they were almost at an end.

Molly met him at the door, her usual smile looking rather forced of late. She saw him through to the sitting room and quickly disappeared – to start a pot of tea, or begin making the dinner she'd try to guilt him into joining, he was sure. The purpose of his visit sat silently, staring into the fire and twitching the fingers of his right hand every so often.

Snape said nothing, waiting for his presence to be noticed. The red-headed teen didn't move, his shaggy hair glinting in the firelight and his jaw clenched. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the tail-end of horrible raised welts was visible on his arms. As he watched, the teen stiffened in his seat, lowering his head into his hands and muttering under his breath.

The weeks following the Department of Mysteries fiasco had been undoubtedly difficult, though none had it worse than Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. The poisoning of Granger's blood had caused her to die twice in her hospital bed before he and Pomfrey had realized what was happening – and truth be told, they had almost lost her for good more than once, before an inelegant and _temporary_ solution had been found. The indubitable Mr. Weasley, however, was now subject to what, in Snape's opinion, was an arguably worse horror. He watched, seemingly dispassionately, as shudders wracked the lanky young man's frame, and finally, after several minutes passed, Ronald Weasley sat up and turned towards the professor.

"What was it?" Snape asked quietly, dreading the answer.

"McKinnon," the youngest Mr. Weasley said shortly. He swallowed convulsively, but managed – _this time_ – to hold the contents of his stomach.

Snape grimaced in sympathy. He hadn't been present for the death of Marlene McKinnon, but he had heard much about it after the fact. Rosier always did love to boast. She had died broken, battered, and unable to scream, after being used in the worst ways possible. That Weasley had just had to watch that – had to see it through Rosier's eyes, as if _he_ were the perpetrator –

The young man in question was watching him like a hawk as he cast several privacy charms around the sitting room. Leaning forward in the chair, Snape retrieved a small bottle of ointment from his bag.

Ron, with a grimace, rolled his sleeves up still further and placed both elbows on the end table between them. With a flick of his wand, ointment coated the scars on his arm, and seeped slowly into the skin. Weasley let out a quiet hiss – Scaradicate salve tended to burn.

"I think," Snape said quietly, "the further treatments will prove ineffective."

Weasley simply shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "Battle scars aren't going to upset me, sir," he said quietly. His voice, as it always was now, was tinged with a quiet solemnity. "Are we going to get to it?"

Snape nodded sharply, raising his wand and meeting his student's eyes. He didn't bother with any instructions; Weasley already knew what to do. "Legilimens," he intoned, and Weasley stiffened again in his chair.

It was three hours before they left the room, Weasley pale and shaking, Snape scowling and chilled. He handed his student a calming draught, nodded once at Molly, now sitting at the kitchen table, and swept from the house. As he readied to disapparate, he heard Molly's crooning voice as she tried to calm her son.

 _Foolish woman_ , he thought bitterly. _You can't soothe away these nightmares._

Mad-Eye materialized in the walkway before him, the Weasley patriarch at his side. The pair nodded at the potions master and walked away, disappearing inside the house. Snape watched silently as the wards slammed down around the property, shimmering in the air around him and then vanishing.

He spun once on his heel...

And he was gone.

 

* * *

 

_Longbottom Manor_

_Somewhere near Glasgow, Scotland_

 

Neville flexed his fingers, letting out a slow, shaky breath as pain shot up his arms. Spots swam before his eyes and he shook his head roughly, trying to force them away.

"Easy!" McGonagall said sharply, frowning, and Neville scoffed slightly under his breath. With a muttered oath, he opened his eyes, focused on his target, and uncurled his fingers.

"Reparo," he said softly, and watched as the shards of his shattered clay pot fitted themselves together. His hand was trembling noticeably, the motions jarring his wand. He swallowed harshly, his brow furrowing as he glared at his hands and slowly, the trembling lessened until neither of them could see his wand move.

 _That would have been impressive_ , _for_ _ **me**_ , he thought darkly, _if I hadn't shattered the thing by missing my target to begin with_. Shoving aside thoughts of inadequacy, he raised his wand again and shot the arrow spell through the tiny hoop across the greenhouse.

"Good," McGonagall said approvingly. "Well done, Mr. Longbottom."

He smiled softly. His professor had gone out of her way to compliment him since she had first heard the way his gran regularly cut him down. It was almost amusing, hearing the usually-stern Gryffindor head heap praises upon him.

Their physical therapy sessions were almost at an end. Over the course of several weeks, he had learned several stretches and exercises to help with the muscle cramps; he had rebuilt the strength in his legs, the dexterity in his hands, and the endurance of his lungs. Now, except for his hands, his physical condition was almost _better_ than it had been before the Cruciatus exposure.

Except for his hands. Except for the constant, shooting pains through his body. He was _almost_ better off.

Stockier now, instead of husky, he had shot up several inches already this summer, and now stood an easy six foot. His hands, though unsteady, were broader, his shoulders were wide, and his jaw was hardened, his baby fat almost gone. The constant exercise had melted away his excess pounds, and his clumsiness, too. He was fairly certain, however, that he'd be the only _male_ at Hogwarts to be practicing both yoga – for balance – and tai chi – for his calm.

McGonagall was watching him with pursed lips, and the expression on her face said that she had tried to get his attention more than once. He shook his head once more to clear it, focusing in on his teacher.

"Good," she said again simply, then pointed across the greenhouse. A new dummy appeared in the opposite corner, a bullseye on its center. As he watched, it sped from side to side, veering across, then forward, then back. She stood back, folded her arms across her chest, and glared at him over her glasses. "Hit the target," she said sharply. "No damage to the rest."

Neville nodded, took a deep breath, and raised his wand.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere in England_

 

"Faster!" Lupin barked, and Ginny wheezed harshly as she raced through the obstacle course, spells flying around her. Lupin and Charlie circled the course, firing at her and her battle partner every so often as they dodged, rolled, and skidded along. A jet of fire shot out of the hedge to her right, and Ginny veered into Luna with a sharp cry, sending them both slamming into the ground. The dreamy blonde's hair was smoking at the ends and she gulped in air frantically, shoving her hair away from her eyes with a shaky hand. She glanced at Ginny and nodded; she was fine. The youngest Weasley grinned back impishly.

They struggled to their feet against the heavy packs on their backs and raced again for the exit. As they ran, Ginny shot stunning spells towards their attackers while Luna wove a shield charm around them. The young part-fay's eyes glowed as the air around them sparkled, and Ginny fought to keep her head from spinning under the sedating influence of the magic in the air.

A sharp turn, hurtling around a corner, and the ground beneath them gave way. Luna yelped as they landed roughly in a pile of leaves and branches. They jumped up again and kept going, but the branches raised up and started to bind together, blocking their path. Growling under her breath, Ginny skidded to a halt, Luna slamming into her back and almost knocking them both down again.

The redhead watched with narrowed eyes as the branches curved in, knotting together and blocking their path. She raised her wand, drew a deep breath -

"Bombarda!" she cried, and the branches exploded. Grabbing Luna's hand, she dragged the blonde through the gap as it closed, branches tearing at their clothes. Around them, javelins started hurling themselves out of the earthen walls of their passage, and Ginny groaned in annoyance as Luna shoved her down to the ground.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

He knelt on the floor, eyes closed and hands raised before him in concentration. Dumbledore sat silently at the desk, watching as his student traced shapes and patterns in the air. Across the room, Bill Weasley stood with his back pressed to the window, arms folded across his chest and his wand dangling from his left hand.

They had spent the better part of an hour going through the runes and movements he would need for the channeling spell, but Harry still didn't understand _what_ he was trying to accomplish. Ron had always spoken of his eldest brother's brilliance, however, and Bill said the runeswork was important, so Harry simply gritted his teeth, shoved aside his impatience, and got on with it. Hadn't the eldest Weasley son earned Harry's consideration?

So Harry traced a dozen more designs in the air, moving slowly, carefully, lest he draw one wrong. A whispered breath echoed from his lips, and the runic shapes turned a shimmering gold, melting together and exploding outwards in a burst of song. In the spot where the runes had been, a dove appeared, flying away with a startled cry and a rush of wings. Harry opened his eyes, and smiled.

" _That_ ," Dumbledore said, smiling softly, "was beautiful."

Harry turned towards his headmaster and smiled back, then frowned just as suddenly, his brow furrowing. "How is this going to help me fight?" he asked sharply. "The shields, the transfigurations, the curse and hex training, all of _that_ makes sense. How is summoning a bird going to help?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers before his face, looking at Harry over the edge of his half-moon glasses.

"Focus, Harry," the Headmaster returned, "what do you _feel_?"

Harry frowned thoughtfully. Biting back his instant reply, he leaned back on heels and turned his senses inward. He could feel a tingling throughout his body, a gentle, quiet hum and a steady warmth – his _magic,_ he realized with a gasp. He could feel his magic, could sense it like he had never done before, except in Ollivander's shop.

He glanced sharply at Bill, who quirked one eyebrow silently, then turned again to Dumbledore, and the headmaster smiled. "Exactly," Dumbledore said softly. "Now that you know how to find your core, and better channel your magic – we can delve into _true_ wandless abilities."

A feral smile grew on Harry's face.

 

* * *

 

_Grimmauld Place_

_London, England_

_July 17, 1996_

 

The Order of the Phoenix reconvened six weeks before the school year was to begin.

The members gathered silently in the dusty and solemn house, arrayed around the table in odd groups. The summer had already been long, drawn out, and eventful – not least of which, eventful in that the Order had swelled by six members, against the express wishes of Molly Weasley. With a strange look, half-grimace, half-smirk, Ron Weasley settled himself in his assigned seating with Mad-Eye on his left and his father to his right. He met his sister's dark gaze and grinned when she glared roughly at Mad-Eye. They had begun group combat training three weeks before, and Mad-Eye had chosen to attack her vanity and roughly chop off her hair with a cutting curse that, if it had connected with her, could have taken off her ear as well.

Ginny Weasley knew how to hold a grudge like nobody else, and Mad-Eye should be watching his back even more than usual, he thought idly.

As everyone settled down in their chairs, his eyes drifted around the table. Hermione sat adjacent from him, talking with Shacklebolt and Snape in low, earnest voices. Harry was, as he should had been, to the left of the head of the table, turning a small runic charm over in his hands again and again. Across from him was Bill, his eyes resting on the moody teen. Fleur squeezed his shoulder and leaned into him, whispering something in his ear, and he nodded but didn't look away.

Luna sat to Ginny's right, perched on the end of her chair with Charlie on her other side. The blonde Ravenclaw was tracing symbols into the table with her wand, smiling now and then as a puff of light flashed up from the table's surface. Brow furrowed, Lupin watched her from Ginny's left as she giggled under her breath, and Ginny rolled her eyes fondly.

Neville sat at the furthest end of the table, McGonagall at his right shoulder, his hands laying flat and still on the table-top. A book floated in front of the pair, now and then turning a page with a crisp noise, and both looked utterly engrossed and unaware of their surroundings.

Ron let his gaze travel over the others gathered at the table, from Tonks who nursed a cup of coffee in one hand and a set of maps in the other, to his mother, scowling at all the teens, to Vance, who was flipping idly through a Transfiguration magazine. Podmore was glaring dully as always, Elphias Dodge nodding off in the corner, and Dung, muttering sharply under his breath as he scribbled in a small notebook.

This was it. This was their whole inner circle.

He turned sharply as Dumbledore strode into the room, Hagrid and – holy Merlin, _Viktor Krum_ at his heels. Hagrid and Krum split off, heading for the far end of the table with Neville and McGonagall, and as Ron watched, his father shifted in his chair and shot a strange look towards Krum. Ron turned towards his father with a questioning look, and the balding redhead shook his head, biting his lip sharply.

Ron sighed, rubbing his right arm absently. Across the table, Luna looked up from her carvings and watched his hands, a sad, lost look on her face. He pulled a face at her and she shrugged, going back to tracing the table.

Dumbledore cleared his throat once, and all side-conversations stopped. Luna ceased etching the table, and Neville dropped his book with a _thud_.

"We must discuss continuing the children's training at school," he said quietly. "For obvious reasons, it would be best that the rest of the student body not realize the – _extent –_ of their lessons." At this, Snape frowned darkly, and the rest of the table nodded in agreement.

"Harry," he continued, "had a suggestion for a location where we could continue their training, that would not be easily accessible. That, in fact, only he, or those taught by him, could open."

Ginny stiffened in her chair, and Luna squeezed her hand as Lupin rubbed her shoulder. At the end of the table, Molly Weasley bristled, glaring at Lupin.

"Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said gently, his eyes solemn as he looked at the young redheaded girl, "do you feel you could brave the chamber once more?"

Ginny scowled, shoving her hands under the table, as Ron, Hermione, Neville and Harry all looked at her worriedly. Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth and Neville stared solemnly as they all waited for her response. Luna just smiled vaguely.

A moment later, Ginny Weasley tossed her newly-regrown hair back from her shoulder and huffed. "A memory isn't going to control where I go and what I do," she said simply, and Fleur smiled at the young girl as every Weasley nodded approvingly. Ginny shot a look at Fleur and rolled her eyes.

"It is settled then?" Dumbledore asked, and Ginny nodded.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, and Hermione and Tonks immediately turned to look at him. "It would be best if we did a sweep of the place first," he countered. "Yes, we're training the kids in combat, and most scenarios, they can handle well enough with just themselves at this point – but what if Riddle left something else nasty down there? Or, worse, what if there was another basilisk egg?"

Harry frowned. "I don't remember sensing another snake down there, and I think I would have been able to tell," he argued, but McGonagall grimaced.

"You were in terrible shape, Potter, when you and the Weasleys escaped the Chamber," she pointed out gently. "It would be best to be cautious."

"Agreed," Snape said immediately. "Potter, if you could reopen the chamber for us this weekend upcoming, myself, Shacklebolt, and Mad-Eye can go in and scour the chamber. Perhaps you could assist, wolf," he added roughly, and Lupin merely nodded as Ginny and Luna scowled.

"Now," Dumbledore said, flicking his wand and lighting the hearth as a harsh wind swirled outside. "On to the real business of the evening. Harry?"

Harry sighed, still passing the runic charm from hand to hand. "Some of you know this already," he said quietly, "but a few days back, I had one of my _dreams_."

Ron glanced at his dad worriedly, and his mum stood, walking over to her husband and standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders. Harry sent them an apologetic glance – _still blaming himself, the git,_ Ron thought angrily – and continued.

"Voldemort was in a room with Pettigrew, Malfoy, and Dolohov – " Here, Remus, Ginny, and Hermione all stiffened, and Shacklebolt squeezed Hermione's hand as Ginny and Remus exchanged dark looks. "They were talking about an attack plan on Halloween. Basically," Harry paused, "they plan to _eliminate_ us. Most of us."

"What," Neville asked, his voice hard but quiet, "do you mean by _most_?"

Harry flinched. "The orders are to take Hermione and Ginny alive, and bring them to Voldemort as a lesson. For me."

Hermione paled, and Ginny's eyes flashed.

"Poor Tommy-boy misses his pen pal, does he?" she asked viciously, and her mother sobbed. Down the table, Snape let out a surprised snort and shot Ginny a look of grudging respect. Beside the redheaded young woman, Lupin growled under his breath.

"Let them try," the lycanthrope snarled.

"Any _helpful_ information about this attack, Potter?" Snape asked with a snide tone, and Harry shook his head.

"Only that Dolohov is obsessed with you," Harry told Hermione, his eyes sad and haunted. "He seemed very keen to get you alone."

"He shan't get near you," Shacklebolt told the young brunette witch, and she shook her head in silence. Standing from her spot down the table, Tonks moved to Hermione's side, transfigured her straight-backed chair into an armchair – shoving Shacklebolt and Snape aside as she did so – and climbed in beside the young woman, pulling Hermione to her side in a firm hug.

"So with no idea as to their actual plan," Emmeline Vance spoke up, "what are our options?"

"We know one thing," Ron replied. "We know when they intend to do this."

"Unless," Charlie countered, "Voldemort wanted Harry to hear the date, so we'd be ready at the wrong time."

"It's all we've got," Ron argued back. "We can make sure that Gin and 'Mione are in a safe location on Halloween night, and be ready to fight, the rest of us."

At this, both girls glared at him, and Hermione's mouth opened to retort.

" _Don't_ ," echoed around the table, as Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, and most of their mentors glared at the pair of stubborn teen girls. "This isn't up for discussion," Harry, their defacto leader, continued. "If we know the intention is to capture you, we cannot have you accessible during that time. Who knows what they'll make you do," he swallowed and let out a shaky breath, "or what they'll do to you."

Looking up, and staring straight in Hermione's eyes, he said quietly, "You're my sister in all but blood. Ginny _is_ Ron's sister. Do you think it's any coincidence they chose the two of you to kidnap?" he asked miserably, and Hermione sniffled as Ginny continued to glare.

"I feel left out," Luna murmured, breaking the charged moment, and several people laughed. Harry glanced down the table, a fond smile on his face.

"Don't worry," he said quietly, in an unusual show of emotion, "I love you, too, Luna."

She grinned at him, for once looking completely aware. "I know."

"Touching," Snape sneered, "though all these declarations are, we have yet to find a solution to this issue."

"Have you heard anything about it?" Neville asked, meeting the glare of his once-Boggart without pause.

The dour man scowled. "No."

"Then there isn't much we _can_ do, right now," Pomfrey said softly, and he huffed.

"All are combat-trained now, da?" Viktor asked suddenly, his gruff voice echoing through the room. Hermione's eyes trained on his face as he looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes. "All know how to use many veapons?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "Spell combat, yes, and we've done some hand-to-hand, but no real weapons training as yet."

"I can travel to school or meet somevere on Friday nights," Krum offered, "teach staff and sword, knives." At this, Ginny's and Harry's eyes gleamed with excitement, and Neville and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, stroking his extremely long beard. "I see no issue with such an idea. Certainly, the more aptitude they acquire, the better." He looked at Krum sharply, "You will demonstrate your skills to Lupin, Shacklebolt, and Alastor?" Viktor nodded silently. "Agreed."

"Anything else?" the headmaster asked, and Snape sighed softly.

"McClaggen. Pucey. Flint. Bulstrode."

"Marked?" McGonagall asked sharply, and Pomfrey drew in a breath.

Snape simply nodded.

"McClaggen is a Gryffindor," Neville said sadly.

"So was Wormtail," Ron muttered bitterly, and Lupin and Harry winced.

"Do we let them return to the school?" Molly asked as she rubbed Arthur's shoulders, still leaning slightly on her husband.

"We can't block them," Tonks pointed out, "not without revealing how we know."

"Unless," Moody said, "we start doing random checks." He uncorked his flask and took a long pull, then said, "Easy enough to justify, after what just happened."

"But would we wish to?" Hermione asked, her mouth twisting in a grimace. "If they are at the school, we can keep an eye on them – perhaps gain additional information. It's not a pleasant thought, but – "

"'Ermione 'as a point," Fleur said haughtily. "If zey are under zurveillance at ze school, zey should not be able to cause much damage. And you shall 'ave ze advantage of knowing what zey are doing at all times. Eet ees ze best option." Bill rubbed her shoulder lightly with a vague smile.

"I concur," McGonagall said with a frown.

Silence reigned in the room for several moments, then Ron's mum straightened and declared, "Well! Dinner time, I think," and she disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, the food she had prepared earlier came floating into the room and settled in the middle of the dining table, and Ron grinned lightly. Slowly, everyone began to dig into the meal, and individual conversations started up again.

For once not rushing to the food, Ron sat silently and looked around the table. An image flashed across his mind – a young, black-haired woman, lying bloodied and unseeing on the ground. He swallowed, forcing the image away, and shook his head to clear it.

Harry, as if sensing his sudden shift in mood, gave him a sharp look, and Ron grinned at his friend and reached for the mash like nothing was wrong.

 

* * *

 

_Grimmauld Place_

_London, England_

 

As after every training session or meeting, Harry had been spirited back to Privet Drive by the guard of the hour. The teen had shot a sullen glance Dumbledore's way, and Ron watched as his mum, muttering under her breath all the while, bustled around the dim kitchen wrapping and shrinking care packages for Harry to take with him. His dad clapped Harry on the shoulder as his mum slipped the packages into his pockets with a sniff. After a moment, Vance cleared her throat, shooting an apologetic look at Bill. Ron's oldest brother was leaning nonchalantly against the cabinets, arms folded across his front and face blank.

Ron stood in the corner and watched Harry turn his head and look at Bill questioningly, watched Bill quirk his lips slightly and shake his head... and watched as Harry's face fell.

As Ron bit back a swear, Bill stepped forward and put an arm around Harry's shoulder, talking to him in a quiet, hurried voice. Harry's back straightened and his eyes hardened slightly, and the scrawny teen bit his lip and nodded. Ron's brother just smiled softly, patting Harry on the back before he walked out of the room. Without another word, Harry looked up and shot Ron a lopsided smile, moving to touch the umbrella Vance was holding out.

Ron turned his back on his parents, who stood together in the kitchen, still watching the place where Harry had stood, and turned to go after Bill -

But his brother had already vanished.

Swearing under his breath, he stalked up to the room he and Harry had shared the summer before, and found the rest of their group sprawled around the room. He stepped through the door and shut it sharply with a loud swear. No one looked up.

"Did he seem - ?" Hermione asked from her perch on the desk, leaned halfway against the window. The curly-haired girl seemed to grimace as she trailed off. Scooting slightly on the desk, she turned to face more towards the room, and scrambled to catch the book that almost fell from her lap.

"He is _definitely_ calmer than he was last summer," Ron said heavily, throwing himself onto his bed with a sigh. The mattress bounced and Ginny glared at him as it jostled her and Luna. With a muttered oath, his sister resumed her task of braiding Luna's hair, the blonde girl halfway in Ginny's lap.

Ron eyed them curiously for a moment. Those two, he thought, were strange. If he didn't know how boy-crazy his sister was...

 _Then again_ , he thought to himself, _plenty of people probably think Harry, Hermione, and I are strangely close._

He watched silently as Luna shifted on the bed a bit, sliding down so she was resting her head on Ginny's knee, then glanced over at Neville. The stocky Gryffindor was sitting on the other bed, tossing a rubber ball up against the wall and catching it over and over again. His hands shook now and then, but he just scowled and kept going.

 _"_ I don't know how," Ron continued, shaking his head, "but Bill is getting through to him. He was able to calm Harry out of a right funk, and Harry looked to him for guidance on how to act when Mum and Dad were pressing him. Maybe...?"

"Is he going to ask Dumbledore again?" Neville asked with a frown, and Ron scowled.

"He was gone as fast as Harry was," the red-headed boy replied. "Maybe that's where he went, but I dunno."

"Dumbledore will never let Bill take him," Ginny scoffed. "He doesn't care that Bill is starting to make Harry feel safe, he doesn't care that he could take care of him. He just wants us to follow his orders without question, even when they hurt us and help nothing."

"I don't think that's fair," said Luna quietly, looking up at Ginny with a frown, and the red-headed girl looked away.

"Whatever his faults, I do believe Dumbledore has all our best interests at heart," Hermione put in quietly. "Even he can be wrong. Maybe he truly doesn't believe it's that bad there. Maybe..."

"Maybe he'd rather let Harry die a little more each summer than risk it," Ginny shot back. "The Dursleys are as bad as Snape. And has he ever stepped in to stop _him_?" the redheaded girl demanded roughly, glaring at Hermione.

Ron looked back and forth between his sister and his best friend and sighed. Hermione bit her lip and looked down; he knew perfectly well she wasn't going to explain her strange new detente with their cruel Potions Master.

"Maybe it'll work this time," Neville said softly. "Maybe he'll listen."

The group just looked at each other, then looked away. In moments, the only sounds in the room were the rubber ball bouncing off the wall, the rustle of turning pages, and the steady thrum of the rain against the windows.

 

* * *

 

_Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

 

"I didn't _break it_ ," Harry insisted quietly, his eyes flashing and his hands bunched into fists in his pockets.

"Like _hell_!" Vernon Dursley roared, stalking right up and screaming spittle in Harry's face. "That vase was on my porch when I got home, boy, and Petunia and Dudders aren't back from the shops yet! Who else, I ask you, who else could have done it?"

 _Neighbors,_ Harry thought to himself. _A cat. A branch falling from the storm._ He scowled as he stared back at the large man. Logic just wasn't Vernon Dursley's strong suit.

The Gryffindor boy took a slow, deep breath, willing himself to remember what Bill had said about confrontation. 'Stay calm, stay firm, don't rise to their taunts, you'll be out of there soon,' the eldest Weasley son had told him when he left Grimmauld, and Harry stared as his uncle glared at him threateningly. It had been years since his uncle had been this forward, and he was honestly a little unsure what to do. If his uncle hit him, and he defended himself - well, wouldn't Dursley throw him out? And _then_ what about the blood wards?

The man was still ranting, and it turned to white noise in Harry's ears as he reached up and fiddled with the dragon tooth necklace Bill had given him.

"Uncle Vernon," he started, in what he hoped was his most ingratiating voice, "I'm sorry the vase is broken, and I am happy to go fetch you a new one, but I didn't break it."

The man's face turned impossibly red, his eyes flashing with rage. "Oh, that's a laugh," his uncle jeered as he glared at Harry, and the teen took an involuntary step back. Like a predator scenting blood, his uncle moved forward again, pushing Harry back into the corner. "How do you mean to do _that_ , I wonder? Planning to steal it, are you, boy, then come rushing back here and bringing the police down on my house?"

"No, I - " Harry cut himself off, swallowing.

"Where have you been, anyway? Off at another meeting with your little friends? Are they going to come _threaten me again?"_

The man took another step forward, and Harry felt his back hit the wall. Suddenly, he was four years old again, running from a cast iron skillet aimed at his head.

"I've had it," Dursley declared suddenly, and Harry's blood froze as the man looked him in the eye for the first time that night. "I have had it with you, and your freakishness, and your freeloading, and your _lies_. We tried to stamp it out of you, we tried to fix you, but I guess there's just nothing for it."

"Uncle Vernon, what-?" Harry's voice died in his throat. Without another word, Vernon Dursley reached around the corner into the kitchen, his hand coming up with a fireplace poker. Before Harry could react, his uncle was swinging and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

_Headmaster's Office_

_Hogwarts_

 

"That isn't right, and you know it," Bill Weasley said calmly, twirling his wand idly in his left hand as he spoke. The Headmaster smiled benignly as he looked at the cursebreaker, his eyes twinkling.

 _"_ William," he began.

"Bill," Bill corrected tersely; working for the goblins had taught him it was a mark of respect to call someone by their chosen means of address. Nine years out of Hogwarts, and the Headmaster's insistence on calling him "young William" still rankled.

"It is admirable that you wish to take such an active role in young Harry's life," Dumbledore continued as if Bill had never spoken.

 _Start with a compliment, and then -_ Bill thought.

"Especially as you had only met a handful of times before this summer." Behind the Headmaster, the phoenix shifted on its perch, large black eyes staring unblinking at Bill.

 _Almost to script,_ Bill thought wryly. "There's nothing admirable about it, Headmaster," he said calmly. "Harry needs an adult he can trust, one who can put him first. My parents care, but they have too many others to look after. He hasn't really connected with any other adults aside from Sirius, and..." Bill's voice trailed off there, and he shook his head and leaned forward in his chair, "I think I can help him, and I know I can keep him safe."

Dumbledore regarded him seriously, his gnarled hands steepled beneath his chin as he peered over half-moon glasses. "I realize you are a talented wardmaster and cursebreaker, William. No one can refute that. But I am not certain you fully understand what you are asking - "

A sudden burning pain seared Bill's chest and he swore violently, one hand coming up to pull the dragon tooth pendant out of his robes. The tooth was glowing a brilliant blood red, and Bill shot to his feet as Fawkes let out a shriek.

_Harry._

Bill grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the mantle and threw it into the flames, as behind him, one of the Headmaster's trinkets let out a stream of smoke. "I'm not asking," he snarled over his shoulder. "The Three Broomsticks!"

Before he had even stepped fully into the tavern, he was apparating to Privet Drive.

A man of manners though he was - Molly Weasley would have it no other way - Bill wasted no time on niceties. Strolling up the drive, he simply blasted the door off its hinges, and indignant shouts sounded from inside the house. As he stepped over the threshold, he shot off three quick Patroni, then hardened his expression to his most menacing look. He found the family of three in the living room, the fat abuser sitting in an armchair with his scrawny wife hovering over him, their large son having scurried behind the armchair when they heard the door fall.

Bill didn't say a word, just leveled his wand on them as Dursley began to splutter. Behind Bill, he heard a loud pop outside, and then the quick footfalls of his father and the near-stomping of his brother. His dad and Charlie walked up behind him, wands already drawn, and Petunia Dursley paled as she looked at the grim group. The sudden sound of crunching glass echoed as Shacklebolt joined the group, but Bill never looked away from Vernon Dursley.

The rotund man had a huge gash on his forehead, running nearly to one eye. His right arm hung limply at his side and his face was badly scratched. Harry, Bill realized, had not gone docilely.

"Not so fun when they fight back, is it?" Bill asked quietly, and the boy behind the chair whimpered. Harry's aunt - _his damned aunt, his_ **blood** , Bill thought angrily - froze at the quiet fury in his voice. Her gaze had been on Shacklebolt - he couldn't blame her, the man was certainly imposing - but her eyes snapped back to Bill the instant he spoke.

Bill looked away from Dursley for a second as Shacklebolt stepped closer, meeting Petunia Dursley's eyes and smiling at her grimly. _Yes,_ he thought to himself, _you should be afraid of me._

"It wasn't us!" the walrus of a man suddenly shouted, and Bill turned back to the male Dursley yet again. "The boy just attacked us! Think he's gone round the bend."

"Is that so?" Bill's father asked genially, but the kindly man's eyes didn't match his tone. "I've known Harry quite a while, you see, and I've never known him to attack someone unprovoked. Why, most of the time, he won't even defend himself!"

Dursley's mouth shut with an audible _click._

Charlie hadn't said a word, nor had Shacklebolt. Both of them moved off through the house, wands out as the checked room after room.

"I will only ask once," Arthur said in the same genial tone. "Where is Harry?"

"He ran," a shaky voice replied, and Bill and Arthur looked at the portly boy silently. Dudley Dursley hesitated for a moment, then shoved out from behind his father's arm chair, dodging the man's arm as Vernon Dursley tried to pull him back. A quelling glare from Arthur froze the large man in his seat, and Dudley cleared his throat.

"I don't know all of it - Mum and I came home and Harry was on the floor, and Dad was standing over him with a poker. Then there was this," the boy swallowed, his triple-chins quivering, and let out a shaky breath, "this flash of light, and Dad was thrown across the room. Harry scrambled up and then he ran out the door without a word. We went to check on Dad. He was bleeding."

Dudley let out another shaky breath, then looked up and met Bill's eyes. "I went to the door to look for him, but he was gone."

As Vernon Dursley began to splutter at his son, Charlie and Shacklebolt walked back into the room. "No sign of Harry," his brother reported. "And his things are all here, even his owl."

"Shut _up,_ Dad," Dudley suddenly said shakily, and Bill turned to look at the family again. The large boy sighed and looked over at Bill, then looked away, biting his lip. "He saved me. Last summer. Those... those demented things -"

"Dementors," Petunia Dursley corrected quietly, a sour look on her face.

"Whatever," Dudley replied. "I thought he had set them on me, but he protected me. So... I guess I owe him."

Bill barely managed to hold back a scoff. He could care less if the little bully was starting to have an identity crisis. "Was Harry hurt?"

Petunia and Dudley Dursley colored as Vernon began to grumble again. "I didn't really see him, but... there was blood on the floor," Dudley replied.

Bill turned his back on the family. "Get all his things and bring them to my place," he ordered sharply, and Charlie nodded and moved off towards the stairs. "Shack, check Diagon and Hogsmeade, Dad, his friends' places and your house. If you find him, contact me."

Shacklebolt swept for the doors immediately, but his father hesitated a moment, glancing at the Dursleys before nodding and heading for the doors himself. Petunia Dursley shifted in place, then looked at Bill with a scowl.

Charlie came down the stairs a few moments later, nodded once, and walked out to the street. Bill waited until he heard his brother Disapparate before he spoke again.

The Dursleys stayed rooted to the spot as Bill twirled his wand, drawing golden characters in the air. He chanted under his breath before calling " _Iustitia_ , _exaudi_ _me_!"

The golden characters swirled in the center of the room like a tornado, then flew outwards and melted into the walls. The golden light faded after a moment, and the Dursleys stared in horror. Bill turned his head to look at Vernon Dursley and took a step forward -

Charlie's Patronus slammed into the room and Bill froze as he heard his normally boisterous brother's frantic voice. Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the house and Disapparated, landing in the sands outside Shell Cottage. The shore was brutal, sheets of rain scoring his skin as he raced across the beach. His porch came into sight and he skidded to a halt.

Charlie stood just inside the porch, looking worriedly at the black-haired teen who sat on the steps. As Bill moved forward, Harry raised his eyes to meet Bill's gaze, but he didn't move.

Bill just walked over and sat down on the steps next to the teen.

Charlie shot him a look then murmured, "I'm gonna go find Dad and Shack. You might want to call Pomfrey."

One last worried look at Harry, and the dragon handler walked across the beach and disappeared.

Bill sat silently on the porch beside Harry, listening to the rain beat down around them, a chill sinking into his bones as the wind changed directions. One step back, and they would both be under the cover of the porch roof. Harry must be freezing, and Merlin knew he had injuries that needed tending, but Bill knew if he spoke first, if he moved first...

The silence stretched on, and finally, Harry spoke. "Can I - can I stay here a few days?"

Bill smiled. "You can stay as long as you like." Standing, he turned and offered a hand up to the younger wizard. And as Harry stared at his feet, he finally got a chance to take stock of the boy. He was soaking wet, as if he had been sitting out in the rain for hours. There was blood coming from his temple and neck, what looked like fingerprints on his throat, and his t-shirt was bloodied on the side.

And that was just what Bill could see from a glance. For Merlin's sake, Bill had been with him less than an hour before! If Vernon Dursley had had more time...

 _I will kill him_ , he wanted to say.

 _Who could do this to a kid?_ he wanted to scream.

Instead, he said simply, "Come on. Let's get you into some dry clothes."

Harry finally cracked a wry grin and grabbed Bill's offered hand, and Bill pulled him to his feet and ushered him gently into the cottage.

 

* * *

 

_Headmaster's Tower_

_Hogwarts_

_July 18, 1996_

 

It was well past three in the morning when Albus finally returned to Hogwarts. Unravelling the mess the Weasley boy made had taken far longer than he had hoped. In his rush to get to Harry, William had shown no regard for the Statute of Secrecy, and neither had the others, really. Apparating and Disapparating in full view of the Muggle neighbors, letting Hedwig fly from outside, and even _vengeance_ curses -

He should really talk to young William about his temper. And Kingsley - the others, he could understand, but an _Auror_ , forgetting the Statute?

He turned the corner to his tower and sighed. All that aside... he had to figure out how to get young Harry back to that house, and back under the blood wards. But how to restrain the Dursleys? And how to convince the Order that it must be done, it must be borne, after they have heard about the events at Privet Drive?

He stepped off the staircase and stopped short as he entered his office. From a chair by the fire, Arthur Weasley rose to his feet, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

"Hello Albus," the Weasley patriarch said quietly. "We need to talk."

 

* * *

 


	2. Ask Not

_Tonks_ _Residence_

_London, England_

_July 20, 1996_

 

Dora Tonks was bored.

The metamorphmagus was leaning casually against a tree, her eyes trained on the stately townhouse. She hadn't moved more than a few steps in about six hours, and she only had her gifts to thank for the fact that she wasn't stiff as a board.

Being able to control her body composition on a cellular level was good for more than a pretty face.

The young witch had been stationed outside her parents' home every night for the past two days. Before the dust had even settled from Harry's encounter with Vernon Dursley – _pillock_ , Tonks thought with a scowl – Snape had carried the news that Bellatrix Lestrange had been given leave to settle some scores. And apparently, Andromeda Tonks was at the top of her list – and the Muggleborn wizard who had made her turn away from the Black family.

Tonks snapped her bubble gum nonchalantly as her hair shifted to red – not that anyone would have seen it under the disillusionment charm. As far as she was concerned… while she was grateful that Snape had warned her of the threat, it didn't change anything for her. She remembered seven years of Potions lessons under the tosser, after all.

Some of the students had called Snape a bully, but she disagreed.

When it was a 21 year old man against 11 year olds, the term 'bully' just didn't apply. 'Abuser' was much more accurate. And to hear Ron and Neville talk of it, he had only gotten worse as he grew older. No matter how many lives he saved, nothing would change the fact that he _gleefully_ verbally eviscerated children and teens for sport. She knew Dumbledore vouched for the man, but being a spy for the Light didn't make him a _good_ man. Not like…

Tonks cut that thought off at the pass, a flicker of sorrow flashing through her. She shook her head, as if to shake the thought from her mind, and let out a shaky breath.

And yet… Snape had given her the chance to save her family.

Tonks scowled again, blowing a giant bubble as she narrowed her eyes against the darkness. There was something about a stake-out which made the seconds feel like hours. Not for the first time, she wished she had some company – especially as Charlie was in town – but it was all hands on deck that night, dealing with the attack in Brighton. Some poor sod had been _Imperius_ ed to drive a lorry right into a crowded market, and the _Oblivator_ squad just wasn't big enough to sort out the survivors and witnesses on their own.

She sighed, ran a hand through her short, spiky pink hair, and wrapped her arms around her middle. Strange, how cold it had been at nights this summer. England certainly wasn't tropical, but these 2 degree Celsius nights weren't typical for July.

She let out another shaky breath and watched as it crystallized in the air. Her eyes narrowed and she carefully reached for her holster, drawing her wand into her hand. A chill stole over her body and she turned her head slightly, listening carefully for the slightest sound.

There it was. A whisper.

_Get down!_ Sirius's voice echoed in her mind.

_How dare you befoul our family with that filth!_ Bellatrix Black's youthful face flashed through her mind's eye, and she could picture the spell flying towards her mother – she heard herself scream….

_Dementors_.

She spun around, eyes peeled on the street as screams and shouts echoed in her mind. The sound grew louder and suddenly she saw the edge of a black cloak, billowing in its own wind. With a steady hand, she pointed her wand and whispered " _Expecto Patronum_!" A silvery jack rabbit shot out of the tip of her wand and raced towards the creature, and as she watched, the dark being screeched, a piercing sound that cut through the night. It turned and started to glide up the street –

Glass shattered behind her, and Tonks spun around so fast she almost fell over. With a muttered swear, she bolted for the house, her Disillusionment slipping as she moved. The front bay window was shattered, the curtains blowing in a breeze, and Tonks shivered against the still night air outside the house.

She reached the window and shoved her hands down on the frame, vaulting through and ignoring the sharp pains as her hands were cut to ribbons. Before she dropped carefully to the ground, the cuts were sealing themselves together, and she crouched carefully in the living room of her childhood home, her heart racing.

Dora's eyes scanned the room, took in the scorch marks on the wall, the overturned lamp –

" _Homenum_ _revelio,"_ she whispered.

Nothing. The spell showed no one else in the house.

"No," she said aloud. "No."

She didn't bother with stealth – why would it matter now, after all? Racing from the room, she muttered darkly as she tripped over the lamp cord and fell into the wall. The lights were dimmed in the kitchen, and a choked sob wrenched from her throat as she skidded to a halt just inside the doorway.

Tonks fell back against the wall, her hands clapped over her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. Ted and Andromeda Tonks were propped up at the table, their eyes wide and unseeing. Her mother's arm was outstretched, her fingers still wrapped around the dagger plunged into her husband's heart. A pool of blood had dropped down and congealed in Ted's lap, and his face was twisted in a grimace of pain and shock. His right hand held a scalpel, and there were tiny little cuts all over her mother's face. A book of matches lay on the table between them, and they were both covered in burn marks. And a pail sat on the floor by her father, a dark red liquid within.

The blood in her father's lap was already congealed. They had to have been dead for hours.

She heard another sob bubble up between her lips, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. She dropped her hands and stared straight ahead, her eyes seeing nothing. She had been guarding her parents' corpses, and hadn't even –

She screamed, stepping away from the wall, but her strength vanished and she stumbled over nothing, falling to the floor as she began to cry in earnest –

And a pair of arms banded around her back, wrapped around her middle, and Tonks was surrounded by the smell of evergreen and a burning fireplace and a hint of chocolate. She let herself be spun around and she collapsed onto Remus's shoulder, weeping hysterically as he rubbed a hand down her back and murmured in her ear. She sensed, more than heard, another presence in the room, and a steady _thud_ on the floor – Moody.

"Christ," she heard her mentor mutter, and she curled in on herself further, trying with all her might to burrow further into Lupin's hold. "The devil brought you here, Lupin?" Moody asked as he stomped across the room.

Tonks whimpered. Her tears slowed, no longer great, sucking gasps of air but now a quiet, steady stream.

"I wanted to check on her," Remus said quietly. "She was — she was too quiet in the meeting this afternoon. I was worried."

Moody snorted, and Tonks bit her lip as a fresh round of hysteria began to surface. "Aye, so was I. Came here as soon as I left Brighton. And good thing too – left yourselves wide open, the both of you. You call this vigilance?" the man demanded, and Tonks let out a shaky breath as she pushed the tears back. She felt Remus's arms tighten around her and she sniffled, blinking rapidly to try to clear her vision.

"I would have known if someone came," she heard Lupin say softly, and Moody snorted again.

"And if a trap had been left?" her mentor shot back.

With a Herculean effort, she raised her head from where it had fallen in the crook of Lupin's arm – she was too short to quite reach his shoulder. Her hair brushed her cheek as she stepped back, eyes on the ground. The two men fell silent.

She could feel someone watching her intently, and she raised her eyes to meet Lupin's gaze. The older man was staring at her solemnly, a mix of sadness and – something, something she didn't quite recognize in his eyes. She jerked her eyes away from him and glanced over at Moody, standing by the table, by her – by the bodies.

The ex-Auror was staring at her, too, something sad and dark in his eyes. "You look like her," the man said gruffly, and she flinched.

Raising one hand – thinner than she usually kept it, and with longer, more elegant fingers – she stepped forward, pitching slightly to the side as her center of gravity adjusted to the more curvy build. Her now steel gray eyes focused on the wall behind her parents, and her face twisted with hate.

There, on the wall, was a message scrawled in blood. A paintbrush lay on the counter nearby – the bitch had painted it by hand.

_Defiance is death._

She stepped forward, ignoring Lupin's hand reaching for her, ignoring Moody's warning growl, and brushed one hand against the gleaming letters. Under her touch, the letters flowed bright red. The period drawn on the wall beaded up suddenly, sliding down the soft yellow paint and spreading into a new message.

_Be seeing you, Nymphie_.

A whooshing sound echoed through the room, a sudden flash of silver registering on the edge of her field of vision as Moody sent off a Patronus. As Remus began to swear behind her.

And the younger, mirror image of Bellatrix Black Lestrange stood in her dead parents' kitchen, staring at the writing on the wall.

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

_July 22, 1996_

 

Bill stepped into the room carefully, his wand hanging loosely between the fingers of his left hand as he peered around the corner. Silence echoed through the cottage, and the dim light of dawn was just starting to creep over the horizon.

Harry was sprawled under the covers, one foot sticking out at an angle, his arm thrown across the pillow next to him. The boy's mouth was twisted in a slight grimace, his brow furrowed, but he was silent and still. No signs of the nightmare that had jerked himself and Bill awake at 1 am.

Not a Voldemort vision dream, the teen had hastened to assure Bill, acting as though that made the nightmare of no consequence.

Bill Weasley hated the Dursleys with a fiery passion. A slight buzzing began to sound in his ears, almost like static, and he shook his head roughly and closed his eyes. 

_Not_ now. 

He stepped back, closing the door quietly, and turned to head down the steep staircase. In the kitchen, he leaned against the counter as the steady drip of the coffee pot filled the room. His eyes roved carefully along the beach as the sun began to peek over the waves.

No one uninvited should be able to find the place, but that didn't mean he didn't constantly check. _Especially_ with his new houseguest asleep upstairs.

A couple quick spells shot from his wand towards the shore, splitting off in either direction before sailing back to the rectangular mirrors in the wall opposite him. The two jets of soft blue light pulsed then spread across the mirror's surface, and Bill nodded with satisfaction as the view of the empty stretch of beach appeared. No ripples in the air, no gleams of unnatural light which would indicate spells or traps of any kind. No person or creature around, save a couple gulls and turtles that were all without the nimbus of light that would have revealed an Animagus.

They were alone.

He turned back to the coffee pot and reached up for a mug, smiling as a pair of slender arms wrapped around his waist. A soft sigh emanated from the figure behind him, and a gentle press of lips against his upper back had him closing his eyes.

Bill turned and grasped Fleur's elbows, leaning back against the counter and pulling the slender woman into the space between his legs. The blonde woman's eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, reaching up to brush his hair back where it had fallen over his face. She pressed her hand to his cheek and he turned his head, kissing her palm before he let go of her arms, and she stepped back.

"Good morning," the Frenchwoman whispered, and Bill quirked a grin at the small woman. There she stood in the early light of morning, barefoot and with nothing but his button down on, and looked as though she had stepped off the cover of a magazine.

_How in Merlin's name did I pull this off?_ he thought idly, not for the first time.

Then the memory of literally pulling it off – _it_ being his shirt, and _off_ being off of Fleur – the night before flooded his mind, and he had to swallow carefully to keep his breathing steady.

Fleur's smile turned a bit wolfish, as if she could hear his thoughts, and he laughed ruefully.

"' _Arry_ is still asleep?" she asked quietly, reaching around him to select a mug.

Bill nodded absently as he opened the window to let the post owl through, taking a slow sip of his coffee and making a face. He set the coffee down on the counter and Fleur promptly spooned a touch of sugar in the mug, placing it back in his hand as she poured a heavy amount of cream into her own mug.

"Yeah," he replied, clearing his throat with a wince. His throat was always a little sore in the morning – consequence from an injury in a dig in Chile, some six years before. No amount of potions or spell work had ever remedied that, and to this day, he would lose his voice now and then for no apparent reason.

Tossing the paper on the counter after he skimmed the headlines, he continued, "He seems to have managed to sleep through after that nightmare, but it's early yet. Maybe – "

A sudden creaking sounded above their heads, and Bill and Fleur looked up as the sound of hesitant footfalls followed. With a lopsided grin, Bill turned and looked at Fleur, but she was already moving, quickly washing and drying her mug and setting it back in the cabinet, waving her wand at the countertops to remove any stray hairs she may have lost. Pressing a hand to his arm, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, then drew back and hastened out the door in just his shirt. The screen settled back in place just as Harry came into the room, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Coffee's on," Bill said casually, and Harry nodded as he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, pressing his hand to his mouth to suppress a yawn. The teen's hair was a mess, his cheek reddened slightly, and his shirt bunched around the collar. As he watched, Harry reached up and fiddled with the shirt, but his hand missed the first try – landing a bit outside the fabric, as if he wasn't used to reaching for a shirt that size.

Bill knew from experience that it was difficult to get used to clothes that fit.

He turned around and pulled out a frying pan, waving his wand to summon some eggs and ham from the ice chest on the opposite wall. As the sizzling noise began to echo in the room, he turned back to look at Harry, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms across his chest. "Sleep okay?" he asked nonchalantly, and Harry nodded absently, still fiddling with his collar.

"Slept right through, as near as I can remember," the teen replied. "Though my pillows seemed a bit harder this morning?"

_Oops_ , Bill thought to himself, quirking a rueful grin. So Harry didn't remember the nightmare after all, or Bill sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing his back as he sobbed – or vanishing his pillow and blankets accidentally before he woke, yelling that they were choking him.

_I hate them_ , he thought again, then cleared his throat and shook his head. "Strange," he agreed. "Bother your neck at all?"

"A little, yeah," Harry muttered, and Bill nodded.

"I'll fix them up after lunch," he said calmly. "As a matter of fact, I'll show you how to adjust them yourself."

"Great. Thanks," the teen said enthusiastically, and another flicker of anger stole through Bill. The kid was too damned easy to please.

"Of course," the cursebreaker replied, turning back to the stove to slide the eggs and ham off of the fryer. "Viktor's going to be here around 11 this morning, by the way."

Harry nodded absently as Bill set the plates down on the table. The teen's eyes were shadowed when he looked down at the food, tension radiating off of him. Bill was sure he knew why – he'd had to practically force the boy to sit and let him cook the first couple days. Harry seemed to think he needed to do all the work. Slowly, the teen picked up his fork and began sliding food around the plate.

As he sat across from Harry, he glanced across the room and caught a flash of pink – one of Fleur's sandals abandoned in the corner. He slid his wand out of his pocket under the table and carefully banished the shoe back to his bedroom wardrobe, internally rolling his eyes at himself all the while. He was damned lucky Fleur didn't mind being kept secret, or having to sneak around and out of the house. Bill wasn't sure exactly _why_ he didn't want Harry to know she sometimes spent the night, he just —

Didn't want to make the kid uncomfortable, he supposed.

The dozen fire and ice roses he had sent to Fleur's flat after the first night he asked her to sneak out had probably helped, of course. That may be the only reason he wasn't in hot water with his part-Veela girlfriend.

He snorted to himself, drawing a startled look from Harry, and smiled reassuringly at the boy. "Are you excited to see everyone?" he asked cheerfully, and Harry nodded, still just sliding his food around. Bill frowned down at Harry's plate, and the boy sighed and began to fork bites into his mouth.

"Yeah," he replied after he had eaten a couple bites, and after Bill stopped looking at the boy's plate meaningfully and began to eat his own breakfast. "Although Ginny is probably going to demand that I model _all_ of the clothes you bought for me."

Bill laughed, his eyes crinkling as he reached for his coffee. "Odds are pretty good that Gin will make you try on at least a few of _your_ new clothes for her," he agreed, raising an eyebrow at Harry. _**Your** clothes, kid, _he thought with an internal scowl,  _not 'the clothes I bought you.'_  "She's been a tad fashion obsessed since she was three or four."

Harry chuckled, and Bill made a mental note to get his sister a token to Gladrags. Maybe she and the girls would like to go on a bit of a spree – though Hermione would probably kill him for subjecting her to that.

Harry fiddled with his collar again, and Bill set down his fork and quirked an eyebrow at the kid. "Bothering you?" the eldest Weasley son asked, and Harry flushed and shot him a guilty, embarrassed look.

"Just – still feels strange, I suppose," the teen replied.

They had traveled to Cairo the day before, by way of an old Portkey from a job that Bill had stashed away. Harry had been wide-eyed and enthralled by all the sights – the pyramids, the statues, the Bedouin village – but Bill had spirited him away to the local magical community shopping center. For a good three hours, he took the boy from shop to shop, re-outfitting the teen from head to toe. The Potter scion has been embarrassed and dismayed, but also extremely grateful. _Too_ grateful, to Bill's mind.

The original plan had been for Tonks to come along – Charlie's best friend was a grand companion and had a keen eye for style, after all. But Merlin only knew how long it would take before the Auror would be up for socializing again. A flicker of pity and sorrow stirred in him as he imagined walking into a scene like _that_ in the Burrow, and he shook his head to clear it as Harry started to give him a searching look.

_Too observant by half_ , he thought sadly, even as he smiled at the boy. It was heart-wrenching, knowing what had truly taught the boy to be so attuned to other people's moods.

"You'll get used to it. And don't forget, Viktor is bringing us a Portkey Germany, as well. We have to get you some winter clothing still."

A shadow crossed Harry's face, but Bill didn't comment. The teen bit his lip then nodded, shoving the plate back with a sigh. Far more than half the food remained.

"I'm going to go wash up," Harry said quietly, and he picked up his plate and set the leftovers in the cooling cabinet, disappearing up the stairs without another word.

Bill watched him go with a slight frown, twirling his wand between his fingers as his mind raced. He knew that Harry was an independent, stubborn kid – pushing him would be a terrible idea. But still… he had to get him to talk.

_Trust cannot be built without a foundation,_ his grandmother's voice echoed in his mind, and Bill sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. Merlin knew, the kid had amazing bonds with his friends, but he needed an _adult_ to trust, someone he could just _know_ was in his corner. Bill hadn't had much growing up – his father's government salary had been stretched to the max feeding nine mouths – but he had never questioned where he stood in the world. He'd always had somewhere to go, someone to turn to.

Who did Harry have?

The sudden slamming of the screen door jerked him from his reverie, and Bill looked up to see Charlie throw himself into the chair opposite. His brother looked beat, his hair a mess and his eyes drooping, and Bill stood wordlessly and moved over to the coffee pot. Charlie didn't even look up, grunting in acknowledgment as a steaming mug of black coffee was set down in front of him. The dragon keeper wrapped both of his hands around the mug and scowled, taking three huge gulps before he set the cup down.

"Harry up?" he asked, peering around the room through still-bleary eyes. Bill nodded and jerked his head towards the stairs, and Charlie slumped back in his seat.

"Merlin, that was a hell of a night," his brother muttered. The stocky man pushed roughly to his feet and ambled across the room, pulling a loaf of bread from the cabinet and ripping off a piece of bread. "Tonks got it into her head to go down to the White Wyvern to shake some blokes down for information on Lestrange. She didn't find anything, but she did manage to get herself into a tussle with six wizards."

Bill winced. "Is she – ?"

"Oh yeah," Charlie replied, a slight grin twisting his face. "I mean, one of them got a good punch in, this tosser had to be at least 6'5," he waved his hands before shoving the entire chunk of bread into his mouth. After a few seconds, he swallowed then continued, "But you know how she is. Knocked them all flat, then tripped over a chair."

Bill chuckled lightly, shaking his head, and Charlie's face grew solemn.

"But she's – you remember how she was after," Charlie glanced nervously towards the stairs, then lowered his voice, "after Sirius died. She hadn't seen him since she was like 7, 8 maybe, until a couple years ago, but she was still on the warpath. Now?"

Silence fell between the two men, as both contemplated the horrible state Tonks was in. It was bad enough that her parents had both been killed, and by her psychotic aunt at that. That she had found them, had seen what they had been made to do, was worse.

But even worse than that, was the fact that somehow, Lestrange had gotten inside and killed her parents while Tonks was outside standing guard. The metamorphmagus has greeted her parents before switching with Dung to take her watch.

Bill could not imagine.

Overhead, the sound of the running water stopped.

"Anyway," Charlie continued, his voice back to normal volume, "she's staying with Shack the next couple days, so I thought I'd come along tomorrow, see what kind of trouble the three of us can get up to in Bavaria." He winked at his older brother and Bill nodded thoughtfully. In Cairo, he'd had connections, old friends and colleagues who were keeping an eye on things for him. In Bavaria, he and Harry would be traveling blind. He didn't know anyone there.

"And Dad said to look up Klaus Brand," Charlie added as he dusted his hands over the sink.

Bill stared. Klaus Brand was a legend. "The spellcrafter?" he asked incredulously.

"Didn't explain," replied the dragon keeper, "just said to find him and bring Harry with you."

Arthur Weasley knew people in nearly every city, it seemed, and not for the first time, Bill found himself wondering just _how_ his father came to know all these people. He had asked many times before about one connection or another. His father always seemed to have some funny story at the ready – usually involving some innocent-seeming Muggle item biting an unsuspecting witch or wizard on the nose.

Bill had been about 16 when he had realized how many of his father's stories ended the same way, and he had kept his questions to himself from then on. Clearly, asking was pointless.

But Brand – the man was brilliant, reportedly had a temper like Fiendfyre, and was _notoriously_ reclusive. Bill _seriously_ wanted to know how his father had managed _that one_.

He met his brother's eyes, and the second oldest Weasley son grinned at him. "If nothing else, it'll be interesting," Charlie said with a shrug.

Bill snorted, rising to clear the table as Harry came back down the stairs. The boy turned off into the living room and silence echoed – Bill gave Charlie a meaningful look and jerked his head towards the other room. Charlie nodded and cleared his throat, walking in his customary almost-stomp into the living room and throwing himself down on the couch. Bill heard Harry's quiet "hello," and smiled as Charlie immediately replied, "Heya, Harry, have I got some stories for you! Norberta had a nest hatch at the preserve, and – "

As Charlie kept Harry occupied, Bill slipped out the doors and across the walkway to his work shed. Closing the door quietly behind himself, he summoned three books from the shelves of his secondary library, setting them down on the table which ran the length of the far wall. He set his coffee mug down and settled into the armchair, flipping open the first book and sitting back to read.

_**Great Magical Discoveries of the 20th**_ _**Century:** _

_**A study in blood and curses** _

The portrait of Klaus Brand glared up from the page, and Bill felt a deep disquiet starting to form in his bones.

 

* * *

 

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

Reg Cattermole was late.

It was nearly 9 am, and he rushed through the Atrium, his robes on crooked and his shoes untied. He weaved around people and raced for the elevators, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the right floor. When the doors opened, he put on another burst of speed and skidded around the corner to his cubicle, throwing himself into the chair and dropping his case at his feet. With a furtive look around the room, he settled in to his paperwork, quietly congratulating himself for making it in without incident.

He flipped through parchment after parchment, idly thumbing through his task list for the day, and sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Another boring day of simple spells and mindless cleanup. He should really talk to his brother-in-law about that start-up the man had mentioned.

He glanced over at the picture stuck to the wall, smiling as his youngest daughter blew a raspberry at the camera, his oldest scolding her while his son ignored them both.

They deserved more.

Shaking his head, the man scrubbed his hand over his face before he pushed to his feet, adjusting his frayed robes around himself. He headed back for the elevators and down to the Atrium, where the main Floo hub was housed.

His assignments for the past six months had gotten somewhat strange. Usually, his job consisted of fixing problems as they cropped up, and filing papers in between. But lately, he had no end of tasks to complete – from adding new wards to the visitor's entrance, to adding a new chime to the Minister's office doors, even changing the spells on the cafeteria doors and walls.

He couldn't remember any of those having been done recently, however – perhaps they just all needed to be renewed.

But this assignment was the strangest. Certainly, he thought to himself, the spells maintaining the fireplaces wore down a bit over time, but respelling every month? Seemed a bit excessive.

And when he cast the spell described in his assignment, the stones seemed to glow an odd green – hadn't they given off a purple light when he'd done this last year?

He shook his head, glancing around to see if anyone else noticed. But no one was looking at him, not even the security guard. Reg sighed and looked back at the first fireplace. The stones looked normal enough, the glow having faded away.

Reg shrugged. The light had been the same for the past six months, and nothing untoward had happened. Besides, orders were orders. He wasn't paid enough to make decisions.

Grumbling under his breath, he moved along the line and cast the spell on every single fireplace.

 

* * *

 

_McGonagall's Quarters_

_Hogwarts_

The fire crackled in the hearth as Minerva sat silently in her favorite chair, a snifter of brandy open on the end table beside her. The Transfiguration Master propped her chin on her fist as she gazed blankly at the wall ahead, her mind racing. The letter had been abandoned on her desk, but she didn't need it any longer – she had read the letter end to end eleven times and memorized the entire contents.

Miss Lovegood was nothing if not creative.

The young woman was an absolute enigma – extremely capable and focused one moment, distracted and foolish the next. Minerva couldn't possibly count the number of times she had turned her back on the girl, having given a simple assignment – spoons to ladles, _really_ – only to find she had transfigured some strange _creature_ onto her desk, or in her lap. Or, memorably, into Romilda Vane's hair.

Minerva shuddered momentarily. Good lord, could that child _scream_.

She shook her head, her eyes resting on the letter on the desk again.

Never mind that object to animal transfiguration was advanced _far_ beyond Miss Lovegood's age or level. Never mind that the girl could never explain how she had accomplished such a feat. Every time Minerva had set the girl a task, through her entire Hogwarts career, she had failed to accomplish it, and instead, created something else from somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain.

It was a shame, Minerva thought ruefully. If she were able to think just a bit more logically, the girl could have been a gifted Transfiguration Master one day.

Unbidden, Minerva's mind conjured up a memory of the day she had asked Lovegood's class to transform a mouse into a snuff box – standard practice, and such a building block.

The girl had flatly refused, saying the mouse wouldn't enjoy being a box.

She shook her head, picking up the brandy glass again and taking a short swallow. With a dry cough, she set the glass down and got to her feet, walking back across the room to sit at her desk again.

And to read the letter. Again.

She dropped the parchment with a bit of annoyance, rubbed her temples, and sighed.

Pandora Lovegood had been nothing like her daughter – the… _quirkiness_ … came straight from Xenophilius – but mother and daughter shared an insatiable curiosity and a need to create. The spell that had taken Pandora's life had been a scrying spell, one that sought to cut through any ward or boundary. Minerva remembered talking with the young woman as she worked through her ideas. They had discussed her mentor's input, the mysterious man that Pan refused to identify.

Pandora's goal with the spell was to create a global net, of sorts, which would enable law enforcement to catch any major uprising or attack as soon as it started. She had been an invaluable Unspeakable, one of Croaker's favorites.

She had been Minerva's friend.

A memory flashed through Minerva's mind, collapsing on the floor of her quarters in tears after Elphinstone had died; the slight blonde girl breaking into her rooms and sitting down on the floor with her, wrapping her arms around the professor and crooning to her softly as she wept.

Miss Lovegood had inherited more than just curiosity from her mother, she admitted to herself. The girl had inherited her mother's kindness, her compassion.

Which made her letter all the more unsettling.

Minerva sighed, turning to look at her bookshelves along the walls. Somewhere in there lay the answer to the girl's question.

She supposed she would just have to find it.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere outside Inverness_

_Scotland_

_July 22, 1996_

 

Fenrir was ready for some fun.

He glanced up at the sky as he moved swiftly through the trees, scowling as he caught sight of the slightest sliver of the moon. He wished it were full already; there was nothing more exciting than running free under the moonlight.

He wished the Dark Lord's pet Potions Master would hurry up with his latest project. With claws and teeth, he could do some damage in his human form, but what he wouldn't give to be able to turn whenever he wanted.

He resented this weak flesh. Detested it, even.

But the blood and flesh of young pups helped to sate his hunger.

Too bad his Lord was sending him after an adult this time. An adult wizard, at that. Fenrir scowled, shaking his head, and wished he could howl. His skin itched and his fists flexed, open, closed, open, closed, as he imagined stumbling across a tasty little morsel. Maybe after he was done with his chore, he could take a slight detour before reporting in. Maybe even find a little girl.

It had been days since he'd had a little girl. He loved to rip the little pigtails from their scalps when he was finished with them. He had a display on the wall in his den, and there was still plenty of space to add a few more.

Fenrir had always believed in planning ahead.

He moved silently through another section of brush and grinned ferally as the clearing came into view. Rookwood had said that the family was all out of town... all except the boy. As he crouched behind a bush, his sharp eyes caught sight of a young man, swooping through the clearing in perfect figure-eights.

Rookwood had mentioned the boy had some talent. Must have, Fenrir supposed, to make it onto Puddlemere. Not many wizards were signed so young.

Christ, he was bored. Where was the thrill in snatching an unsuspecting wizard from the air?

Fenrir hated when it ended so quick. A little fear made the blood taste sweeter.

He grinned, mind made up, and stood quickly, making sure to thrash around some bushes and branches as he moved. Cutting through the brush, he circled around toward the house, and the boy spun on his broom, staring suspiciously in Fenrir's direction.

"Hello?" the boy called in a thick Scottish brogue. "Who's there?"

There was a tree right by the front porch. Fenrir chuckled under his breath, moving a few steps closer to the front of the house, and reached up, wrapping his claws around a low-hanging branch. He shook the branch roughly, the sound echoing across the otherwise open field.

Even in the darkness, he could see the boy pale.

"What do you want?" the young wizard demanded, pulling out his wand and hovering closer to the ground. Fenrir stepped closer to the house, hiding his face in shadows, but he let himself snarl, followed by a deep, rumbling growl. The boy jumped, nearly falling off the broom, then locked eyes with Fenrir.

The boy froze, and Fenrir sprang forward, knocking him off the broom with one swipe of his claws. The wizard shouted, and Fenrir stepped on the broom, breaking it clean in half as the boy scrambled back on his hands and behind.

He could smell the stench of terror coming off the boy. The hunger stirred deep.

Stepping closer, he moved until he was standing practically over the boy, looked down, and smiled.

"Run," he whispered.

Oliver Wood jumped to his feet and ran.

 

* * *

 

_Whin Park_

_Inverness, Scotland_

 

Remus wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He stood by the play structure, hands shoved forcibly in his pockets as he gazed out over the park. He had been there over an hour, and still, his mind hadn't quite made it past the shock and horror of what he was seeing.

Twenty seven children, ages ranging from two to fourteen, lay splayed out across the grass, their eyes open, hands folded across their fronts in a mimicry of docility. The girls were all missing chunks of hair, the boys, their eyes.

And each and every one had their throat ripped out, and their stomachs ripped open.

The scar on his side, across his stomach, seemed to burn as he stood there, eyes glued to the grisly scene.

A sudden shift of the wind brought the smell slightly away from him, and he let out a shaky sigh of relief. His curse meant he could smell the destruction far more strongly than his fellows, but at least it was no longer being ushered straight at his face.

This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. He was going to wake up.

But it was. And it was. And he didn't.

Instead, a crunch of boots on gravel hit his ears, and the smell of old leather and cherry cigars floated on the breeze. Kingsley.

The Auror stopped beside him, clearing his throat and looking straight at Remus. He couldn't really blame the man. He wished he could look away.

"The constables have checked all the houses. All the parents are unharmed. Looks like he spelled them all to sleep then snatched the children – probably asleep as well." The Auror cleared his throat again, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Small mercy."

Remus shook his head. "The kids weren't asleep."

Shacklebolt just looked at him, a flicker of horror in his eyes, but the man said nothing. Remus stepped forward, silently willing his hands to steady, and he knelt beside the closest child.

She couldn't have been more than three, he thought sadly, wearing a pretty, light blue frilly dress and patent shoes. What was left of her hair was a deep red color – not dissimilar to Lily's hair. She had a cute button nose and a stuffed wolf toy still clutched under one arm. The toy was coated liberally in blood, and had been arranged so its mouth was pressed against her neck, open in a caricature of biting her.

Greyback's depravity knew no bounds. With a gentle hand, Remus reached down and brushed the hair back from her face, closing her tiny green eyes.

Kingsley was just watching him, silent, so Remus cleared his throat and continued. "He likely body bound them, so they couldn't fight too much – they are kids, certainly, but there were too many of them. If they weren't restrained somehow, one or two would have escaped. And they were all killed so quickly after the other that he wasn't dealing with a fight."

He stood abruptly, shoving his hands back into his pockets as he stepped back, turning to face the other man. "But he lives to cause as much pain and fear as possible. He wanted them awake."

Kingsley simply nodded, accepting Remus's explanation immediately. "The stomachs?" The Auror questioned, and Remus grimaced.

"He has a fondness for the liver."

Kingsley let out a shaky breath. The other man's eyes flickered down to Remus's side for a mere moment, then he shook his head. "So the hair from the girls, the eyes from the boys. Trophies, I assume?"

Remus stepped back, moving aside as the Obliviators and Aurors, the Mediwizardry squad swarmed around them. As he walked back across the field, one Obliviator brushed past him and intercepted the constable who stood a few feet from them. The man was sobbing openly, muttering something about "Lily's wolf." Remus's blood ran cold.

But Kingsley, and Moody who had been just a few feet away, were staring at him, waiting for a response, so he jerked his mind back to the present. "He keeps the girl's hair as trophies, displays them in his den. I've heard rumors that a small section of the hair goes into potions he drinks to improve his speed and strength. But the eyes – he hides them in places, and casts a spell on them so…"

"He can see through them," Moody finished grimly, and Remus nodded. They walked past another body – this one a boy, maybe 9 years old – and Remus swallowed.

He looked an awful lot like a young Sirius.

And…

Remus stopped cold, spinning on his heel and walking back across to the bodies. He felt more than heard as the other two turned and followed after him, but Remus paid them no mind. Walking through the rows of bodies that the Aurors had arranged in lines, he looked down at the faces, his mind screaming in horror as another layer of the depravity came clear.

A Lily look-alike, that amazingly shared her name. A Sirius look-alike, a mini Harry or James (and his mind rebelled at that one, because the poor little thing was only four at most), one that looked just like a Hermione, right down to the bushy hair…

Remus looked around at the 27 children, at the display of children who looked just like everyone he'd ever cared for, and felt true fear begin to take root.

* * *

_Zauber Centre_

_Bavaria, Germany_

_July 23, 1996_

 

Charlie Weasley was a man of simple tastes. He liked strong whiskey, good food, forward women, and the open air.

Not – _this_. This place was far too cramped, far too crowded.

He weaved through the crowd following his elder brother and Harry, his eyes roving left and right across the street as they moved. Everyone seemed in a hurry, and none had the air of nervousness that had begun to steal over Magical Britain.  A short ways ahead, Bill ducked into another shop front, one hand clapped on Harry's shoulder as he ushered his charge inside. Charlie scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets, then sighed, forcing his face to relax.

He had volunteered to come along. Bill needed a hand keeping an eye on a Harry, and keeping the boy from getting into another death battle while they shopped. Good kid, sure, but Merlin, that boy could find trouble like a mama dragon honing in on her nest.

Bill steered Harry out of the shop as quickly as they had gone in, a scowl on his face as he shook his head, and Charlie raised an eyebrow. Bill shot Charlie a glare and kept walking, prodding Harry along with him.

The kid was bright red.

They passed a good three hours that way – if not for shrinking charms, Charlie didn't think three Hogwarts carriages would have been able to hold all the shit his brother was buying for the kid. He scoffed, rolling his eyes in amusement. Sure, the kid needed clothes – his were in a right state. And okay, he didn't have much in the way of possessions. But.

It seemed to Charlie like his brother was trying to make up for nearly sixteen years of not having anything in one go.

Granted, with how much of it was clothing, and with Bill being – well, _Bill_ – he might really think that that was a normal amount of things.

Charlie shook his head again, grinning ruefully as a Harry finally declared he could shop no more.

"One more," he heard Bill say, "then we'll find something to eat."

Harry seemed to forcibly hold back a sigh, and Charlie chuckled. Bill shot him a halfhearted glare over his shoulder, then once again led Harry into a nearby shop.

_How_ his brother knew what he was looking for, Charlie didn't understand – he knew for a fact his brother had never been here before. But somehow, Bill zeroed right in on the only Muggle-style jacket store in Bavaria.

Harry stopped protesting the second he stepped through the doors.

Bill's shopping thirst finally quenched, they headed off to a pub down the street and settled into a corner booth near the back doors. Charlie went to the counter and put in an order as Bill cast silencing and shielding charms around the table, and the dragon keeper scowled as his neck prickled again. The stocky man looked around the dining room, his eyes quickly passing over everyone in the place, and –

There, nearest the front door. The man sat hunched over, a newspaper in his hands and a full flagon sitting on the table front of him. He seemed to have a natural, permanent scowl. His nose was prominent, bushy dark grey eyebrows, and a thin scar running down the side of his face.

Charlie was sure he'd seen the man at least twice on the street.

He gathered up their order as it was passed over the counter, paid the barman with a smile, and hurried over to his brother. Harry stood a couple feet away, staring at a large portrait on the wall nearby. The forbidding old man in the portrait stared back at the teen, unblinking. As Charlie set the food down, he leaned over to Bill and whispered, "By the door. Dark green robes."

Bill nodded quietly without even looking. "Saw him. He's been following us for two hours."

Charlie scoffed half-heartedly. His brother's job was details, patterns. His was caring for giant animals which sometimes turned vicious.

Of course, Bill would have spotted a tail first.

"Plan?" Charlie asked quietly, and Bill grinned.

"You'll see. Just," Bill pulled a small jewel out of his pocket, an emerald carved in the shape of a scarab beetle. "Get this on him, and follow him."

Bill waved Harry over, and they ate unhurriedly, Charlie quizzing Harry briefly on his favorite stores and least favorites. Ruefully, Harry admitted that he didn't much like shopping, though the boy quickly added that he was grateful and would pay Bill back as soon as he could get to Gringotts. Bill just shook his head in refusal, and didn't respond to any of Harry's questioning replies.

Charlie had to bite back a laugh as the teen got more and more frustrated when Bill refused to agree to recompense. Finally, the black-haired threw himself back against the booth with a huff, and Charlie raised an eyebrow.  _That_ , he realized, was the first time he had seen Harry Potter _ever_ act as young as his age. Charlie shot a sideways look at his elder brother. He and Fleur should have a sprog of their own. Bill Weasley was clearly a natural-born _dad_.

Bill and Harry were both giving him a funny look, and he realized suddenly that they had finished eating quite a while ago and had probably been trying to get his attention for a bit. Shaking his head, he laughed and pointed to a woman at the bar, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and grinning when Harry went red.

He hadn't really been staring at the broad, but might as well let them think that, and now that he noticed her…

Charlie sighed. No time for recreation on this trip. He cast another appraising look over the woman and shot to his feet, wiping his hands off and grabbing everyone's plates to clear up. Bill quickly took down his spells and Harry shuffled his feet nervously, like Charlie had realized he did every time it was time to go somewhere.

The kid was always bracing himself to be dumped off somewhere, alone.

They moved towards the door, Bill clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder again and chatting animatedly with the boy – or _at_ the boy, really, because Harry had sunk back into his uncertain and nervous silence. As they cleared the doorway, Charlie saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he waved to Harry and Bill, loudly calling to them that he wanted to go check something out.

He ducked back behind a nearby shop cart, and waited.

Their tail came out of the pub just a few moments later, eyes locked on Bill and Harry as he moved down the street after them. With a flick of his wand, he sent the scarab jewel to hover behind the man, and when he stopped to duck behind a tree, it caught up and attached itself to his robes.

Assuming that the device was a tracker of some sort, Charlie fell back further behind the man. He watched the unknown wizard follow all the way back to their hotel, his eyes narrowed as Bill and Harry went inside and headed up a flight of stairs.

Charlie shifted impatiently from one foot to the next, grumbling under his breath. The man stood there for a good thirty minutes, easy, his wand nowhere in sight, his eyes trained on the walls of the hotel as though he could see through them.

Hell, maybe he could. Mad-Eye couldn't be the only wizard in the world with a creepy, x-ray eye.

Finally, the man turned away, and Charlie watched from behind a pillar as he headed down a side street and ducked into the back of a bookstore. Charlie silently thanked whoever had decided to put anti-Apparition and Portkey wards on Bavaria's shopping center as he crept towards the store. As he watched, the man disappeared into a small loft apartment inside the store, and Charlie set off to go find his brother.

Things around Bill had always been a little strange, it was true, but – stranger still with Harry in the mix.

 

* * *

_The Library at Alexandria_

_The Mouseion_

_Alexandria, Egypt_

Louis St. James was _not_ happy.

He was a cheerful fellow by nature, easy-going and easy to please. When a mate called him asking for a favor, he was there. When a colleague asked him to check into something for him, he never minded one bit.

But when _Bill Weasley_ called, the great pillock, odds were, Louis was going to get into a lot of trouble.

Which, of course, was how he found himself stealing through the forbidden section of the Library at Alexandria, on a quest to find – and _liberate_ – a priceless artifact, and an ancient _book_.

He hated the blighter. Was never going to speak to him again.

Never mind that Louis lived for a challenge – didn't all curse-breakers? Never mind that he was promised the necklace Bill had been gifted from their last dig (and Louis knew his girl would just _love_ the shiny trinket). Louis lived in the moment, and in _that_ moment, he was not a happy fellow.

A sudden light flashed and Louis ducked as a security guard walked by. Breathing heavily, he rubbed his hand over his forehead and came away covered in sweat.

Louis scowled. _That_ was exactly why he always sent Bill in _first_.

He ducked back down, and kept trekking through the library. As he moved, he carefully conjured his scuba gear and wetsuit, grumbling to himself all the while.

 

* * *

_Bass Rock_

_The Firth of Forth_

_Scotland_

Remus stepped off the small boat and looked around with a sigh. The island hadn't changed a bit, he saw, grinning wryly as a nearby gannet sauntered casually up to him to have a look. He glanced down at the bird and it simply stared back, completely unbothered by his presence.

A ways beyond, he could see the lighthouse and the old castle. Bracing himself, he took two steps to the right, then knelt and pressed his hand to an etching in the stone.

The air around him shimmered, and the wards fell. Suddenly, the rock island grew larger, grassy areas and even a small copse of trees appearing. Remus stepped forward into the territory given to the pack by the Dalrymple almost three hundreds years before.

Legend told that the knight had lost a son to the curse of lycanthrope – the boy had been turned young, and stoned to death by the knight's village. In his grief, Hamilton-Dalrymple bought the island and sequestered himself on its rocky shores. After some time, he reached out to the nearby packs and invited them to live on the island, somewhere they could be safe, where they didn't have to hide.

Or so they saw it. As far as Remus was concerned, they were still hiding.

Tents, shacks, and small little houses came into view, and Remus stopped at the edge of the village. As he watched, the tent nearest the fire opened, and a small brunette woman appeared.

"Siobhan," Remus greeted, and the small woman walked over to him quietly, clasping his hands in hers.

"You only come to us when you need something, my dear," Siobhan said, a musical lilt to her voice as she chastised Remus. Her eyes were lit with sorrow, and she met his gaze with a tear slipping down her cheek.

"You've heard," he replied, and the Beta nodded.

"It is a terrible thing, to prey on the young," the woman replied. "No child should ever feel the teeth of a were." Her knowing eyes settled on Remus, then she turned and gestured for him to follow. "We will howl for them at the moon time, and give offerings to the Spirit that they may find peace."

Remus said nothing.

They moved quickly through the grass, Siobhan stopping short before a small, broken down chapel. A touch of her hand on the doorway, and the building grew cleaner, brighter, and whole again. She stepped through the doorway and walked up to the altar with sure, even steps, and Remus followed.

The werewolf woman stood at the altar, stepping back to place it between herself and Remus, and said, "I know why you are here. You ask us to disavow Greyback, to cast him out and declare him pack enemy."

Quietly, Remus replied, "I would say he's already declared himself your enemy. He attacks on the behest of a cruel wizard who seeks to oppress everyone, including werewolves. His attacks will only increase the restrictions on our kind, increase the danger."

"And I say it is not he who has turned on our kind, Remus," Siobhan said softly, and Remus met her eyes unflinchingly.

The woman sighed heavily, then continued, "But as I said, it is a terrible thing, to harm a child. I should have cast him out long ago, when your father first brought you here. I did not make that mistake twice. He has been disavowed."

Remus bowed his head.

"He cannot step on this ground and gain any strength from the stream, from the chapel," Siobhan continued, "but nothing will stop him from joining up with any of the mainland packs. In fact, I hear that he has gathered an old crowd together already. There are whispers on the main shores that he plans to organize."

"Do you know any specifics?" Remus asked, carefully keeping the urgency from his tone.

The woman shook her head. "Only that they are somewhere in North Berwick," she said softly. "I heard a mention of Asena Lockheed, but none others."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, his eyes roving over the chapel around them, and Siobhan let out a sad sigh.

"You grieve," the Beta murmured, and Remus quirked a sad smile.

"One of the children was a student of mine, once," he replied, the image of Oliver Wood, sprawled on his own front steps, flashing through his mind. They hadn't found the boy until hours after the park attack. The poor child's parents had returned home from a night out to find their only son torn to ribbons on their porch.

The woman gazed at him thoughtfully, and Remus looked back at her, refusing to give quarter. After a long pause, she moved off into the chapel, coming back with a long iron nail. The nail was etched with runes and glowed faintly in the sunlight. Siobhan held the nail out, and Remus accepted it carefully.

"I thought this was a legend," he said softly, and she laughed.

"The nail will not cure anything," Siobhan replied. "But the runework on the side has meaning. Many of our pack believe it is a map, or a guide. It may lead you down the right path."

Remus nodded, turning to go without thanking the woman – giving gratitude in the packs was considered a show of subservience – but Siobhan reached out quickly, grabbing his arm. Remus looked down at her hand, then back at her and quirked an eyebrow, and the woman flushed and quickly let go, ignoring her own faux pas.

"Be sure you know what you do," the werewolf woman said urgently. "If the magic truly does exist to cure the were condition, it likely exacts a terrible price. And that's nothing against what some will do to you, if they find out you search for the cure."

Remus just looked at the woman intently, his eyes narrowed on her face. "Why do you give me this?"

Siobhan bit her lip and looked away, her long, simple shift swirling around her ankles as she stepped back. "I've dreamed of terrible times. Something is coming, Remus, something primal and…" The Beta shook her head, then turned to look at him once more.

"My family, my pack, we are happy here. We have no wish to return to our old lives. We ask that you leave us in peace." She let out a shaky breath, tracing the engravings on the altar with one clawed hand. "But I have seen what will come of a world made to Greyback's liking, and it would be the end. He and his _Lord_ ," she spat, "must be stopped. At all costs."

She jerked her hand back from the altar, turned to face Remus.

"Go, _now,_ Remus Lupin," she said urgently. "Go and never return."

Remus's eyes searched hers, and he nodded abruptly, turning on his heel and walking out of the chapel. As he reached the entrance, she called after him.

"You could have had a place here. You could have had a home."

Remus closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He didn't turn around. "My home was never here. Goodbye, Aunt Siobhan."

And as he stepped from the chapel, his father's sister whispered, "Goodbye, child."

 

* * *

_Zauber Centre_

_Bavaria, Germany_

The scarab was still emitting a signal.

Bill sat at the desk in the small hotel room, watching the small mirror in his hand as the green dot moved about the streets. The man had traveled to a grocer in Muggle Berlin, then Apparated back to the edge of Magical Bavaria, After a stroll back through town, to the pub they had visited for lunch, he finally returned back to the bookstore and the small flat within. Looking around, Bill shoved his hair back from his face with a sigh. He still didn't see why his father wanted him to find the man… but really, what did he have to lose?

Charlie was pacing the floor near the windows, Harry dozing in the bed behind him, and Bill scowled. He wanted to go home, he wanted to get Harry back to the safety of the wards, and they couldn't go until they met Brand. Time to get on with it, then. 

Bill jerked his head towards the door and Charlie nodded, rousing Harry with a gentle shake of the teen's shoulder. Harry looked baffled for a moment before the sleepiness cleared from his mind, then jumped to his feet, sliding his wand into the arm holster Bill had gotten him that afternoon. Bill nodded approvingly, gesturing for Harry to stay behind him, then led his brother and his charge through the streets.

The sun had sank hours before, and Bavaria was a very different sight after dark. A group of vampires prowled the streets ahead, and he and Charlie shot warning looks at the pair that drew too close. A hag was leaned against the side of a building, a middle aged wizard chatting with her, and they stopped and watched as Bill and the others passed by.

Bill was kicking himself. He should have known that just because they managed to blend during the day, didn't mean they would blend at night. Honestly, what was he, a total rookie?

He grabbed both Harry and Charlie by the arm, dragging them behind a shop, and cast a quick Glamour on both of them. Charlie made to return the favor for Bill, but the cursebreaker shook his head.

He wanted the man who had been following them to recognize him.

Bill had long made a career out of managing difficult and dangerous situations, and knowing where to step and what to do at all times. He easily recreated the path Charlie had described, winding them through back alleys and across side streets to reach the shop where their tail had vanished. With a blank expression, he reached up and rapped three times on the back door of the shop, and the door swung open immediately, as if someone had been waiting.

Their tail stood in the doorway, the green scarab jewel in his hand, and Bill smiled. He loved a worthy adversary.

"Klaus Brand?" Bill said calmly, and Charlie started next to him, staring.

The spellcrafter scowled, and held out the scarab gingerly. Bill held out his hand and the jewel fell into his palm. Stowing the jewel back in his pocket, Bill continued, "My name is Bill Weasley. My father told me I should speak with you."

The man glanced at him, brow furrowed, then looked past Bill to the boy hovering at Charlie's shoulder.

"What on earth were you thinking, boy, bringing Potter _here_?" the man practically snarled, and Charlie raised an eyebrow as Bill forced his face to remain impassive.

Klaus Brand turned to look Bill straight in the eye, his expression thunderous. "Do you have any idea what the boy carries? He is _marked_ , you fool!"

"I think," Bill said quietly, "that is why my father sent us here to you."

The man went still, his eyes flashing and his face going pale. "Get inside," Brand muttered, stepping back from the door. " _Hurry."_

Charlie shot Bill a worried look, but the eldest Weasley son nodded, so Charlie stepped through the door with his hand on Harry's elbow. Bill glanced over his shoulder at the dark alley, a chill running down his spine, and followed.

The heavy stone door slid shut behind them, and they were plunged into darkness.

 

* * *

A/N: So I definitely won't be updating every other day, but... this was already ready to go and I am a bit impatient. Reviews are like lemonade or coffee: awesome and life-giving.

~*~ALIBI


	3. Mouth Be Silent

_Zauber Centre_

_Bavaria, Germany_

_July 24, 1996_

 

The steady ticking of the clock hands echoed through the room.

Harry shifted nervously on his couch, his eyes scanning over the dim room. The strange man – something-or-other Brand – had led them into the pitch black bookshop and _through_ a wall, and somehow, they had ended up in a circular, concrete room filled with display cases and shelves. He glanced over at the nearest case, grimacing as his eyes took in a shriveled head resting on a pillow.

Harry quickly averted his eyes, turning to look straight ahead. He didn't like this place. Beside him, Charlie coughed quietly, and Harry's mouth twisted in a grin.

It was just gone midnight, and they had been sitting for over an hour as the spellcrafter ripped out book after book, trinket after trinket from his display cases. Muttering to himself, the man had put the vast majority of it back before moving on. Charlie had tried twice to ask the man what he was about, only to receive a blistering glare from Brand and a warning look from Bill. The dragon keeper finally subsided, throwing himself back against the couch in a huff.

Harry wasn't going to lie, that _did_ make him feel a bit better about his own bafflement. At least _someone_ was as uncomfortable as he was.

Across the room, Brand was rummaging through a cabinet, tossing things onto the floor as he muttered darkly to himself. Bill stood nearby, watching the pile of items grow. The cursebreaker looked entranced, his eyes widening as he stared at the items.

"A five-point field distruptor?" said Bill incredulously, leaning down to reach towards a small metal disc in the shape of a star, and Brand shot him a poisonous look. Bill straightened quickly, clearing his throat and stepping back, though his eyes kept darting towards the little metal disc.

"1981, 1981…" the spellcrafter was muttering, and he dug out a flat stone box, covered in dust and dirt. The man set the box down on a nearby table with a _thud_ , and a musty cloud shot up from beneath the box. Harry choked back a cough.

"Nearly 15 years to grow," the man said angrily, looking at Bill earnestly. "15 years, leeching and feeding and – " Shaking his head, the man muttered, "Necromancy could have fixed it, maybe, but now?"

As Harry watched, Bill's fascinated air disappeared. The red haired man hardened instantly, his eyes going shadowed and his face blank. "What are you saying?" the cursebreaker demanded softly, and Harry sat up straighter.

He had learned over the course of the summer that the quieter Bill's voice became, the angrier the man was.

He'd never heard that tone directed at him, and he never wanted to.

Charlie was looking back and forth between the pair, his eyes narrowed. The dragon keeper had gone stiff as a board beside Harry, a strange, nearly frantic, energy coming off him in waves. Harry turned his head to stare at the other man – Bill, he was beginning to understand, but Charlie? Charlie was an unknown.

"You know," Brand growled, shooting Bill a meaningful look. "Why anyone let it go this long – the fuck was that old fool thinking? And why didn't your father call me years ago?"

Charlie was shooting Bill a confused look, but his elder brother was still staring at the spellcrafter, an unnatural stillness to his form. Harry looked back and forth between Bill, Charlie, and the new man, his brow furrowed. A horrible feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Hell, he'd had a good week, comparatively speaking. He supposed it was well past time for something to go pear-shaped.

After several moments of silence, when it became clear Bill wasn't going to speak, Charlie cleared his throat. "Harry only just recently came under our care," the dragon keeper replied, and Brand snorted, never looking away from Bill. The pair seemed to be locked in a strange staring contest. With a momentary panic, Harry wondered if they were communicating through Legilimency. Did Bill _know_ Legilimency?

"Way I hear it, he's been best friends with your kid brother for five years now, and under your parents' roof for an extended period at least twice," the spellcrafter scoffed. "That aside, boy's been at Hogwarts for five years running now, and guaranteed Dumbledore knew where he was every minute before that."

Bill still had not spoken, and Harry was starting to become genuinely afraid. The blank expression had lifted from Bill's face, his brow furrowed as a look of absolute grief stole across his features.

"Bill, what - ? " Harry asked shakily, but Brand reached forward, grabbing Bill by the shoulders and shaking the other man roughly. Charlie stood abruptly, so Harry did as well, but Bill held out a hand and shook his head. Charlie stepped back, his face twisted in anger, as Brand spoke quietly for the first time.

"You're a _cursebreaker_ , son," the spellcrafter almost whispered. "How could you not see it?"

At this, Bill let out a shaky breath. He finally moved, simply raising his left arm and brushing Brand's hold aside. The older man let go without hesitation, stepping back and watching the cursebreaker. Harry's sense of foreboding only grew as Bill moved across the room and all but collapsed into an arm chair, dropping his head down in his hands. The older man leaned back against the table, his arms folded across his chest and a pitying look on his scarred face, and just stood there watching Bill.

Harry shot a questioning look at Charlie, but the other Weasley looked as confused as he was. "Okay," Harry said finally, "what is going on?"

But Bill didn't seem to hear him, and Brand's eyes flickered his way for a second, then back to Bill.

"Is it too late?" Bill asked hoarsely. The eldest Weasley son sounded like he had swallowed gravel, and Harry stared at his de facto guardian.

Brand sighed heavily. "To reverse the damage? Probably. To stop it?" The man shook his head, scowled. "I don't know."

Harry's patience evaporated, and the teen glared at the others. "What the bloody hell is going _on_?" he asked again, more forcefully this time, and Bill sat up in his chair abruptly. The cursebreaker's eyes seemed to be staring straight ahead, flickering back and forth as if he were tracing some kind of pattern in his mind. He said nothing.

Brand shot a glance at Bill then sighed again, turning to face Harry. "Ever have any strange dreams, kid? Like you're not quite… yourself? Or feel emotions that just don't fit with what's going on around you?"

Harry stared at the man, eyes wide. "How did you know that?" he asked worriedly, and Bill shook his head. His guardian let out a strange sound, half-scoff, half-growl, and Harry glanced over at him in concern, but the man still didn't speak.

"That scar of yours isn't just a scar, kid," Brand replied, stomping over to his cabinet and pulling out another box. "It gives off dark magic in spades, anyone versed in the arts would feel it. And it's been sucking the life, the energy, the _magic_ out of you for years."

The room spun, and Harry's knees almost buckled. He blinked once, twice against the spots that formed in front of his eyes, and when he looked again, Bill had finally jerked out of his trance. The cursebreaker had hold of Harry's right elbow, keeping him on his feet, and the older man carefully guided Harry to the chair he had abandoned. Once Harry was seated, he conjured another chair right next to the teen, sitting down with his elbows propped up on his legs, hands folded between his knees.

"Christ," Charlie muttered.

Harry swallowed roughly, shoving his hair back from his forehead with one shaking hand. "So this is… this is like the diary? Ginny?"

Bill nodded, and that Brand didn't ask any questions seemed to confirm Harry's suspicion of Legilimency. He knew that what happened with Ginny and Tom Riddle's diary had _not_ been widely reported.

"Probably," Brand replied. "There's a few tests we can do to be sure."

"And can you stop it? From killing me, I mean?"

Brand shook his head with a wry smile. "It won't kill you, lad," he said, his voice a bit more gentle now. "Just keep you weakened. But yeah, if it is what I think it is… it will be hard, it will be _dangerous_ , but I think we can pull it off."

Harry sat silently for a few moments, absorbing the shock. "So I'll suddenly get more powerful?" he asked, and Brand barked out a laugh as Bill frowned.

"Nah, kid, you're not going to suddenly become super-wizard or Merlin. Gone is gone," the spellcrafter said simply. "You won't have a power increase, you just – might not struggle quite as much with your general affinity to magic."

"You're no slouch as it is, Harry," Charlie said with a slight – albeit somewhat forced – grin. "Do you think every 13 year old can drive off a hundred dementors by himself?"

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore. Voldemort," he said simply.

"Have studied for decades, both of them under brilliant minds," Bill said shortly. "Each of them has been honing their craft for ages. Hell, Dumbledore has been studying for as many decades as you've lived _years_."

Harry flinched. "But I – "

"Do not have to do anything alone." Bill turned his head and stared steadily at Harry, as though daring the teen to contradict him. Harry sighed, nodded, and swiped impatiently at his hair again.

"So what," he trailed off, swallowing again. He steeled himself, looked up, and met Brand's eerie gaze. "What do I have to do?"

The spellcrafter scowled again, shooting a glare at Bill. "Your blasted father," the man muttered half-heartedly. "I haven't taken on a fucking student for years, not after what happened to Pan." He shook his head again, sighed heavily, then reached down and pulled out the metal disc Bill had been staring at before. He flipped the disc through the air to Bill, who caught it by reflex, staring at the item once more before sticking it carefully in his pocket.

"Follow me, boys," Brand said calmly, and with a wave of his wand, a set of stairs appeared in the corner, a trapdoor shimmering into sight on the ceiling.

Harry just stared at the new addition, then turned to stare at Brand.

This bloke was _paranoid_ as all get out, and Harry seriously hoped that those stairs weren't leading them all straight into a trap.

 

* * *

 

_Little Hangleton Cemetery_

_Little Hangleton, England_

Thomas was frustrated.

With a long-suffering sigh, the self-styled Lord Voldemort stood by the edge of the cemetery, his long, spindly fingers steepled together as he looked out over the graves. The sun had yet to rise, and there was an appropriate air of melancholy throughout the graveyard. Thomas loved graveyards, felt at home among the silence.

How fitting it was, that he had been reborn in one.

"You are certain?" he asked again, and Lucius prostrated himself immediately.

"My Lord," the aristocrat replied, and Thomas winced as the man's nasally, whining tones hit his ears. "We've checked the calculations three times. Rookwood is confident that we have the correct ingredients. Plans proceed apace."

Thomas nodded regally, his gaze running absently along his worthless father's grave. "We shall have to do a test run," he stated. "Pick an appropriate location. Somewhere with a large Muggle population."

Malfoy gave him a bloodthirsty grin, and Thomas chuckled.

"And what of Dumbledore?" the blond man asked softly, and Pettigrew stiffened behind him.

 _Ah, dear Wormtail_ , Thomas thought with amusement, _so very fearful you are._ He breathed in the stench of the small, beady-eyed man's terror, and let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

"I will not adjust my plans for the dearly beloved Headmaster," Thomas said simply. "Killing him is not enough – it would simply make him a martyr. I must reveal his weakness to the world before he is removed from the board."

"And have you a way to do that?" Malfoy asked sternly, and Thomas trained his gaze on the man.

Malfoy immediately flushed, backing up a step as he murmured, "My Lord, I – "

"You forget yourself, Lucius," Thomas murmured, fingering his wand warningly. The Lord of Wiltshire's eyes shot to the wand, and the man swallowed. Thomas bit back a smile. "But an unintelligent servant is fit for nothing but cannon fodder, and you, my dear Lucius, are far more valuable than that. Mind you remember your place."

The man nodded quickly, stared at the Dark Lord questioningly, then swept away, his steps even and sure so as to disguise his sudden hurry.

Thomas stood silently, staring absently after the man, as Pettigrew passed him a vial filled with a dark, viscous fluid. The Dark Lord uncorked the vial and swallowed the potion in one gulp, sparks racing across his skin as his blood warmed, and his eyes flashed. He let out another sigh of contentment, closing his eyes as he felt the power spark through him.

Ah, Severus. He really did owe the Potions Master a marvelous treat. Perhaps he would find the boy a pet from the Hogwarts roster.

He stepped forward, tracing one long finger over his father's grave. Looking out over the headstones that surrounded him, he whispered, "You'll all wake soon. Won't that be fun?"

He spun on his heel, vanishing from the cemetery with a silent Pettigrew right behind him. And as they left, the moon cleared from behind the clouds.

In the dim light, the battered form of Elphias Doge hung from the monument of Tom Riddle Sr, his eyes wide and unseeing.

 

* * *

 

_Raffles Chelsea Nightclub_

_London, England_

The doorman shivered as he stood in the darkness, his back to the entrance as he peered out onto the street.

Crikey, he hated this job. Sure, as his mates said, he got to see some fine-looking birds pass through, and famous ones at that – but they walked by him like he was invisible, their chins raised and their eyes averted as if they would catch something just by glancing his way. It was boring, it was lonely, and it was hours just _standing there._

 _Just_ _ **quit**_ _, then, Erik!_ his girl's shrill voice echoed in his mind, and he huffed a laugh. He would.

Really, he was going to quit. He meant it this time. First thing tomorrow.

He shifted again, stamped his feet. The temperature seemed to be plummeting, and he glanced up at the sky. No sign of a storm incoming, no wind… why in the blazes was it suddenly so cold?

He looked up and down the street, his eyes peeled, but he saw nothing – _no, wait_.

Over near the curb, next to a silver sedan, a woman lay sprawled on the ground, her sparkly gold dress riding up her thighs. The woman's eyes were open, but she wasn't moving.

Erik ran forward, dropping to his knees beside the woman – Amber something or other, he recognized absently, from that new alien film – and reached for her shoulder, shaking her urgently. "Miss," he whispered. "Miss?"

The woman's upper body jostled as he shook her, but she didn't blink. Didn't react. Erik went cold.

A seizure? No, didn't they usually jerk around during one of those? Maybe a stroke?

He let out a shaky breath, his brow furrowing in confusion as the air crystallized before his eyes. Standing carefully, he pulled out his walkie to radio for help, when suddenly he heard it.

A sick, rattling breath, coming from just behind him. A scaly, gnarled hand rested on his shoulder, and Erik spun around, tripping over the woman in his haste and landing roughly on her side. Through the sudden fog in his mind, he heard the snapping sound of a breaking bone. Moving as if in slow motion, he looked down at the woman on whom he had fallen. Blood was bubbling up between her lips, and still she didn't move.

He looked up, startled, eyes scanning the street for whatever had touched him, whatever he'd heard.

Nothing.

Nothing but his wild imagination, and now he was pretty sure he had killed a girl.

Despair started to creep into his mind, and Erik carefully raised himself from the ground, easing around the woman – as if that would help her now – and stood. He leaned against the car a moment, trying to calm his racing heart.

Scaly hands grasped the sides of his face, that rattling breath sounded again, and Erik knew no more.

 

* * *

 

_Banks of the River Ness_

_Inverness, Scotland_

Doug shoved his hair back from his face with a tired sigh, his hands trembling in the early-morning chill. With a muttered oath, he fumbled with the ropes anchoring his fishing boat to the docks, grinning triumphantly as they finally slipped loose.

No more drinking the night before going out on the river, he declared to himself.

With careful movements, he stepped aboard _The Cecilia_ and revved the motor, muttering darkly again as it clicked before starting. If he didn't get a good haul this run, he wouldn't be able to replace his motor, and then what would he do?

But she started, and she powered through the water as he patted her side, coming to a slow stop about 50 feet out from the bank.

He dropped his nets over the sides, cast his reels, and leaned back, his eyes steady on the water. Flexing his fingers, he pulled a ginger out of the cooler and popped the top, taking a long swig.

Then he carefully set down the ginger, flipped a switch on his boombox, and smiled as the haunting sounds of Beethoven drifted over the water.

As he watched, a low, thick fog rolled in, and he cursed as the temperature seemed to drop 5 degrees in as many minutes. He scowled as he tried to focus in on his nets, watching them carefully for any movement.

A ringing began to sound in his ears, quiet at first, then slowly getting louder. The face of his beautiful Cecilia floated in his mind and he cringed.

" _Play with me, Daddy!" her voice echoed, and he scowled in the rearview mirror._

" _Not now, sweetie, I'm trying to concentrate!" he snapped back. Cecilia pouted back at him, her little hands working at her seat belt straps._

" _But Daddy!"_

Doug shook his head harshly, pressing his palms over his eyes as he drew a sharp breath. _Don't,_ he told himself. _Don't think about_ –

The air grew even more chilly, and Cecilia's voice more insistent. _"Daddy, I want to drive!"_ _Cecilia shouted in his mind, and she pulled loose from her restraints, shoving up into his seat._

" _Cici, no!" he yelled, and she banged the wheel with her elbow as he pushed her back. A loud horn sounded –_

Doug let out a quiet sob as the air around him turned to ice. He fell limply to the floor of his boat, his eyes glassy and staring.

The black-clad figure glided away over the water, the river turning to ice beneath it, and the _Cecilia_ continued to bob in the river.

 

* * *

 

_Abershire Home_

_Devon, England_

Ruth sat up in bed, her eyes wide and startled, as the sound of her baby wailing rang through the house. She shot to her feet, ignoring her husband's whine, and grabbed her dressing gown as she raced from the room.

She had been a new mother only a month, and though the doctors told her she needed to let her baby learn to calm himself, she didn't care. If Evan needed her, Evan got her.

She moved quickly through the dark hallway, pushing open the nursery door as her baby's cries cut off. It was freezing in that room, she thought idly, stepping over to fiddle with the thermostat.

"It's okay, baby," she cooed, moving over to the side of the crib.

She looked down – and screamed.

As she pressed her hands to her heart, staring down at her baby's wide, unseeing eyes, a shadow swept over her.

 

* * *

 

_Central Manchester University Hospital_

_Manchester, England_

 

Audrey Munroe just wanted to go home.

The nurse sighed as she hung her clipboard back on the wall, pulling at her ponytail with a grumble.

She had been on-duty for twenty-six hours and counting.

Her feet hurt, her back hurt, her _eyes_ hurt.

With another sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them and spun on her heel. Time for another pass of her rounds.

She moved through the halls with robotic precision, peeking in every door, checking on every sleeping patient, checking saline and medication levels and vitals at each bed. With a smile, she reached Ms Cassandra's room and stepped in to see the elderly lady peering at her suspiciously. One hand was wrapped around the pendant at her neck, as usual, and a deep frown marred her face. Audrey pushed the door shut behind her and met the old woman's gaze with a smile.

Batty though the old crone may be, she never failed to entertain. A grin teased at Audrey's lips as she thought about the many fortunes the old woman had told her. Her personal favorite? That Audrey would meet a soldier in a battle against good and evil, and would narrowly escape death only to find true love.

Audrey chuckled to herself. She'd had enough bad luck with cupid to realize that her "true love" was her dog, Midas.

"Missus Cassandra," she asked chipperly, "how are you feeling?"

The old woman stared at her beedily. "It's cold," she croaked, and Audrey smiled in sympathy. Crossing the room, she gathered up one of the long, colorful throws over the guest chair – _which is never used,_ she thought sadly – and spread the blanket over Miss Cassandra's legs.

"There," she said softly, patting the woman's wrinkled hand. "That better?"

The old woman sighed, her piercing blue eyes fixed on Audrey's face. "You foolish, foolish child," the woman whispered. "I am sorry."

"What?" Audrey asked, pulling back slightly, and the woman jerked forward, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. Around them, the lights flickered, and Audrey whipped around as she heard a scream echo down the hall. "Missus Cassandra, what – "

The old woman ignored her, pulling insistently on Audrey's arm until the young woman bent down, faces level. "Go now," the woman wheezed. "Go north. Find a town called Hogsmeade, you will be safe there!"

With a grunt, Missus Cassandra pulled a pendant from around her neck, pressing it into Audrey's hand. Audrey stared down at the necklace, a tiny, stone book, shivering as the temperature dropped to nothing. A voice in the back of her mind was shrilly asking what was _happening_ , and Audrey swallowed nervously as she met the crazy old woman's gaze.

Cassandra looked back at her with more clarity than she had ever seen on the old woman's face. As the two stared at each other, a thud sounded in the background, and Audrey jumped as the door slammed open. Marcus, the night guard, fell through the door and landed crumpled on the ground, his brown eyes wide and unseeing. Audrey cried out in shock and Cassandra grabbed her shoulder with one hand, tugging the girl to face her again.

"Go!" she hissed. "Go now. Find the village."

A sudden chill shot through Audrey's body as the air around her turned to ice, and a rattling sound echoed through the air. "Go, child! Out the window!" the old lady screeched, and Audrey closed her eyes in panic.

She gripped tightly to the pendant in her hand, opening her eyes as the sharp edges cut into her palm and drew blood. The small book charm glowed, a misty golden light surrounding it. Looking up, she turned to stare at Missus Cassandra – and gasped. A dark, cloaked figure was gliding through the hall outside – and one was in the room, standing over Missus Cassandra's bed.

The thing turned, its eyeless face staring in her direction, and Audrey froze.

"GO!" Cassandra screamed, and Audrey spun, racing out the connecting door and through the next room. As she broke into the far-right hallway, another cloaked figure glided out of a room three doors back, and she gasped as she raced through the hall, dodging supply carts and abandoned walkers. She jumped over sprawled bodies as the voice in her head screamed in protest, her eyes swimming with tears. She just had to make it to the end of the hall –

She skidded to a halt as one of the cloaks appeared before her, her eyes wide and tears staining her cheeks. The thing drew a rattling breath, its horrible grey mouth gaping open. With a cry, Audrey pitched herself to the right, slamming through another door. She stumbled to a halt as she found herself in the infants ward, her mind screaming with horror as she stared around the room.

A sudden _thud_ sounded behind her, and Audrey jumped, spinning around. Nothing. With a shaky breath, she looked down at the book charm. It had stopped glowing, she noticed, and with a shaking hand, she secured the pendant around her neck, her breath coming in choking sobs.

The room was dark, and missing the bone-deep chill she had felt around those _things_. With an uncertain step, she moved forward towards the grouping of bassinets. None of the babies were making a sound, so she was terrified to even look, and yet –

As Audrey gazed at the still babies, a dozen tiny boys and girls staring unseeing at the ceiling, she felt true hate spring to life.

A light flickered in the corner, and Audrey spun on her heel, watching the double doors. After a moment of stillness, she moved through the room, dull screams still echoing in her mind, and she went out the other side.

She made it through devastated corridors with no resistance, moving quietly down the stairs to the main floor. Pushing open the emergency door carefully, she peered out into the lobby. _One more level to the exit_ , she thought with a sob, _you can do this!_

The lights were still on, and she saw no cloaks. Moving forward carefully, she crept towards the nurses station, her eyes sweeping her surroundings constantly. Another cry bubbled through her lips as she stared at Debbie. The night receptionist was still in her chair, pen still in her hand, staring blankly ahead.

"Deb?" she whispered shakily, and the woman didn't move, didn't turn, just sat there staring blankly ahead. As she watched, the fan behind the woman turned and pointed directly at her chair, and a wheel slipped. Debbie fell, landing with her head on the counter, and stayed there, eyes still staring glassily ahead.

Audrey closed her eyes helplessly. She skirted the counter and reached for her friend, carefully lowering the dead weight to lie on the floor. The woman's curly red hair bunched under her head, and Audrey reached up to rearrange it.

 _You've cracked_ , she told herself, and pushing to her feet, she looked down at Debbie.

"I"m sorry," she whispered. She looked around the lobby as the lights began to flicker. A janitor, Mitch, lay slumped against the cafeteria doors, his cart abandoned a few feet away. One of the doctors, Ryan, was crumpled on the ground not far from the elevator. The voice in the back of her mind started screaming again, and she dove for the intercom.

"Is anybody alive in here?" she shouted into the microphone. "Anyone? _Answer me!_ "

She fell back against the counter, breathing heavy, and stared towards the stairs. Wrapping her right hand around the pendant, she stood perfectly still, the only sound her labored breaths.

Nothing. A dead silence fell over the hospital, and as she watched, her breath turned to cold fog. With a cold dread in her stomach, she spun to stare out the bank of windows to her right, outside which lay the parking lot – and her car.

Three cloaks appeared on the stairs, and Audrey _ran_. She dove for the janitor's cart, landing on her feet on the top, and the cart skidded across the floor towards the windows. It hit with a crash and the glass shattered, Audrey crying out as she was flung through the window.

Heart in her throat, she landed on her right arm in the bushes, gasping as a sharp pain bloomed instantly in her shoulder. She shoved to her feet and kicked free from the bushes, her eyes wide as she stared up at the broken windows above her.

The cloaks began to glide down through the air – _flying –_ and Audrey broke into a run. Stumbling as she stepped in a pothole, she wrenched her ankle and gasped again, hobbling as fast as she could towards her Volvo savior. Another misstep and she fell to the ground, crying out as her leg bent at an angle.

The things were moving closer, the ground freezing beneath her –

"Hey!" a voice screamed, and Audrey whipped her head around to see a thin, red-haired man standing a few feet away. The man was breathing heavily, his face flushed, and stood with nothing but a thin stick in his hand.

The cloaks turned.

 _No_ , Audrey wanted to say, _run_.

Her voice came out in a croak.

The man looked pale, but he set his mouth in a grim line and raised the stick as the cloaks glided towards him. His hand shook as he thrust the stick forward –

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ the man shouted, and a silvery light shot from his wand, racing towards the cloaks. Audrey's hand turned white around the charm as she grasped it as hard as she could, and as she watched, the light collided with the cloaks, and the creatures screamed in rage. The red-headed man pitched to the side, racing towards her, and threw himself to the ground beside her.

"I'm Percy," the man gasped, breathing heavily. "This will come as a shock. Hold on."

Audrey screamed as the world vanished around her.

 

* * *

 

Lord Voldemort stepped through the doorway, his lips pinched in distaste as he looked around the room. Cassandra Vablatsky peered back at him, her Dementor sentry still hovering by her bedside.

The Dark Lord crossed to her side, settling easily in the arm chair by her bed. Behind him, Fenrir Greyback slinked into the room. "Cassie," he said lightly, a small smile on his face. "It's been a long time."

The woman _harrumphed_ , staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Beware, Tom," she croaked. "You have gone too far."

His smile faded, and he leaned forward, his red eyes flashing. "You have something of mine. I want it back," he hissed.

The old woman cackled, her laugh turning into a rasping cough. "Not yours," she gasped out. "Never was, and never will be!"

Lord Voldemort sighed, looking down at the old woman. "You did me a kindness once," he said quietly, "so I return the favor. If you give me what I seek, your death shall be quick."

The old crone spat in his face.

Looking up, eyes flashing, Voldemort turned to the Dementor. "Go. Keep the _Order_ busy. Take a group."

The Dementor glided from the room, and Voldemort turned back to the Seer.

"Whatever fate brought you here," he whispered as he drew his wand, "to this wide-open Muggle hospital... I _am_ glad for it." With a smile, he slammed the doors behind himself, closing them in, and the old woman began to scream.

 

* * *

 

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

They landed with a thud, and the woman cried out as her leg bent again. Percy shot to his feet, his hands shaking, and turned to help her up, sliding her arm over his shoulder and propping her against his side. When he looked up, his mum was racing across the yard towards them, her skirts held up in one hand as she vaulted through the grass.

"Percy, oh _Percy_!" Molly Weasley shouted, tears streaming down her face, and she skidded to a halt, just barely stopping herself from throwing her arms around her son as she noticed the woman he was holding up. "Percy, I saw the clock and – oh my boy, my poor boy, what happened? And this dear - ?"

As if on cue, the young woman roused slightly, her head jerking up as she looked around in fright. "What – what happened?" the girl demanded shrilly. "What were those things? How did we get here? What did you _do?"_

Percy's mum was staring at him. "Percy," she said quietly, "you didn't."

The girl didn't seem to hear her. Shaking, she pointed at the house behind them. "We were in _Manchester_ , two seconds ago!" she gasped, and Percy grimaced.

"You didn't seriously Apparate a Muggle _here_ ," his mum continued, her tone going dark.

"What would you have me do? Leave her to the Dementors?" Percy demanded. In a rare show of rebellion, he shouldered by his mother, ushering the panicking girl along with him. Behind him, he heard his mother sigh, then hasten after them.

"Get her in a chair," his mum said tightly. "I'll get some chocolate going. Are you - ?"

"I'm fine," Percy said quickly. "But I think she – what's your name?" He stopped suddenly, looking down at the slender, brown haired young woman hyperventilating in front of him. His wire-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose slightly, and he shoved them back up impatiently.

The girl stopped staring around herself in utter confusion long enough to give him a sharp look, as if to say _Are you kidding me_? She stared at Percy and he looked back at her calmly. Finally, she murmured, "Audrey."

"I think Audrey's hurt her leg," he called to his mother, and he heard clattering on the stairs as his youngest brother and his sister came down.

Audrey flinched as the pair came into the room, and Ginny immediately moved across and sat down beside her, speaking quietly and gently. Percy looked away as the girl began to sob.

Moments later, his mother came into the room with a tray of steaming hot chocolates, and Ginny lifted a mug to hand to the girl – to Audrey. The young Muggle stared at her in confusion, and Ginny quirked a grin. With a reassuring smile, his sister lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip, then held it out to Audrey. The girl took the mug hesitantly, drinking slowly for a moment before holding it in a white-knuckled grip. As she did so, Percy's mum absently waved her wand, and bandages wrapped around Audrey's leg. The girl gasped, staring back and forth between her ankle and his mum in confusion.

"Well of course, I didn't mean you should leave the girl to _die_ ," Molly Weasley sniffed. "But the _Statute_ – oh, this is a mess."

Ron cleared his throat, and Percy turned to look at his brother. "What even happened?" The youngest son asked directly, and Percy shook his head.

"I'm not sure," he said ruefully. "I'd gotten together with a few of the boys for a pint, a toast to Oliver, you know. When we headed out, I fancied a walk to clear my head. Next thing I know, I see three Dementors, and they're chasing her. She twisted her ankle, I think, and fell, and they were almost on her."

"But how did she even _see_ them, to know to run?" Ron questioned, and Audrey cleared her throat. Reaching down, she wrapped one hand around a book charm at her neck. Ron and Percy leaned forward to peer at the charm – it glowed with magic.

"They attacked the hospital," she said quietly. "I was with Miss Cassandra – one of my patients. Rounds," she added, "I'm a nurse. The guard collapsed and she gave me this, told me to run, to go to some town called Hogsheed? Anyway, I could feel them by the cold, but when I held onto this necklace, I could see them."

"So you ran," Ginny said gently, rubbing the girl's back.

Audrey nodded. She gasped suddenly, tears building up in her eyes, and bent over double. "Dead, they're all dead!" the Muggle girl sobbed, and Percy felt a stab of sadness. Ginny leaned forward quickly and gathered the weeping girl into her arms, meeting Percy's eyes over the girl's head.

"Ah," Ron asked hesitantly. "This patient of yours, Miss Cassandra… do you know her last name?"

Audrey sniffled, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. "Vablatsky, I think."

Ron and Ginny looked at each other significantly. His sister stood abruptly, and Percy moved to catch the girl as she would have toppled over. Audrey leaned into him, shock taking over, and started crying anew.

"Arthur!" his mother yelled as Ron and Ginny headed for the door without a word. "Arthur! Where _is_ that man? I swear, he was in bed when I – "

Molly Weasley spun around and glanced at the clock in the corner, then glared when she caught sight of his father's clock hand. Muttering darkly – "working again, I _swear_ that Cornelius Fudge," – she walked over to the Floo and threw in some powder. "Dumbledore's office!"

The headmaster's face appeared in the green flames, and Audrey fainted.

 

* * *

 

_Granger Household_

_London, England_

The steady, quiet droning of the telly sounded through the floor as Hermione sat back against her headboard, tapping a quill absently against her lips. A large tome hovered in the air before her and she gestured absently, flicking the pages until something caught her attention. With narrowed eyes, she traced the text on the page before her and set the quill down to parchment, still reading as the instrument summarized everything on the page.

 _This_ , she thought, _could be useful._

A soft chime sounded from her bedside table, and Hermione glanced over to see the small stone glowing with a steady blue light. She rolled her eyes and smiled, then said matter-of-factly to the empty room, "You know, you could come in. You don't need to hover invisible outside the window."

A sudden woosh sounded, and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in her window, grinning sheepishly at her as he stepped through. He set his broomstick gently against the wall and leaned back, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her.

"Who decided on the guard?" she asked with a sigh.

"Ron and Ginny," he replied, and she looked up at him in surprise. "Massive Dementor attack across England, at least four Muggle cities so far. They just want to be sure."

Hermione bit her lip, looking at the wall before she cleared her throat. Never mind that she and Harry had faced down over a hundred Dementors at only _thirteen and fourteen_ , and come out the other side just fine. No, she needed a babysitter on the off-chance _one_ might come by.

Hermione sighed, rubbing a hand across her eyes. That wasn't the only reason she had a guard, and she knew it. Capable witch though she was, if Voldemort was able to capture her —she knew what Harry and Ron hadn't been able to admit to themselves yet. Just like the others… if she were captured, she simply knew too much.

She quirked a look at Kingsley, then sighed again, heavily this time for effect. "You looming over there still makes me uncomfortable. Honestly, Kings, I thought we were friends."

The man stared at her blankly for several seconds before moving across the room, sitting down at her desk chair. He gazed for a moment at the small, pewter lion that sat upon her desk, and Hermione followed his eyes. Kingsley had spelled the trinket weeks ago to alert when she was about to have a flare-up. It had only gone off once so far, and she was sure they all hoped to never see it again.

But she knew better.

"What are you reading?" the Auror asked quietly, and Hermione glanced up from the text before turning another page.

"Magic-sharing rituals. Power enhancements, et cetera," she said calmly, and the burly man started.

"Hermione, that's – "

"Woefully inefficient," she murmured, and the Auror glared at her.

"Dark magic."

She stilled. With a wave of her hand, she sent the book to rest on the table by his elbow, the parchment and quill laying atop the large tome. Turning gingerly, she gazed at the Auror.

"Tell me, Kingsley," the Gryffindor girl said softly, "Do you think we will be able to end this war without killing anyone? Without ever doing anything that crosses a line?"

"I think," the man replied tersely, "that some magic comes with a price you shouldn't pay."

Hermione quirked a smile as her parents' laughter floated up through the floor. "Well, luckily for you, nothing I've found so far seems at all useful. Unless I want to bolster us for a day. Although…" She trailed off, shaking her head, and Kingsley glared at her balefully.

But a terrible look crossed Hermione's face, and a sudden, insistent beeping echoed through the room. Kingsley swore as the pewter lion began to glow a sickly green, and he vaulted from the chair to catch Hermione as she slumped. He shot off his Patronus as he cupped the girl's chin, and Hermione drew in a gasping breath. Within moments, Poppy Pomfrey slammed into the room, Hermione's parents on her heels, and Kingsley looked up with a glare.

The last thing Hermione heard was his thundering voice.

" _Where_ _is_ _Snape_?"

 

* * *

 

_Zauber Centre_

_Bavaria, Germany_

_Nothing_ , Harry decided, _nothing about this night makes any sense._

He sat on a comfortable chaise, a bowl of stew and a glass of seltzer on a table beside him. The room was well-lit and, except for the chaise, it was outfitted almost like a hospital ward. Charlie had stretched out in a chair by the door, his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands folded behind his head. The stocky dragon keeper was staring absently towards the magicked window across the room, his eyes following the fluffy clouds as they shot by.

Never mind that it was barely 2 am, Harry thought idly.

Brand – who, he thought darkly, seemed to be Bill's new best friend – had all but dragged Harry into the room and pressured him into the chair, tossing him random items to catch. A small globe had made his skin crawl. A crystal ball had burned his hand badly enough it had needed healing.

A bronze statue of some ancient naked woman had made him want to jump off a cliff.

Bill and Brand had traded dark looks at that, then the two shot a few different spells his way – neither explaining what they were doing, which Harry did _not_ appreciate, mind.

And then both had asked Charlie to stay with him, Bill had rummaged up some food and demanded Harry eat – as if he were hungry after all _that_ – and the pair had disappeared from the room, arguing in hushed tones all the while.

Harry didn't know what to expect when they returned, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't like it.

And then Bill strode through the doors, his face twisted like he had just swallowed a lemon. Brand followed, arguing with _Arthur Weasley_.

"Honestly, Arthur," Brand was saying, "you didn't have to toss me out in the cold."

The kindly Weasley patriarch's face was twisted in a hard expression Harry had never seen on the man. In a flat voice – also unfamiliar to Harry – the man replied, "You cut off a little girl's hand."

Harry's blood ran cold. He inched back on the chaise, eyes narrowed on Brand. 

Brand spluttered, waving his hands wildly. "She was _holding_ the detonator!"

Arthur's kindly blue eyes were like steel as they cut over towards the other man. "She died. It wasn't necessary."

"That's right," Brand huffed, "I forgot. You've never had to kill an innocent to get the job done. Lucky you."

"I've never chosen to," Arthur said softly, and with that, he turned his back on Brand. Looking down at Harry, he smiled. "Hello, son," the kindly man – that Harry had _thought_ he knew – greeted him.

Bill hissed an angry breath through his teeth, and Harry's eyes shot to the eldest Weasley son. The man's father smiled calmly, and Harry turned his gaze back to the quiet, unassuming man who had welcomed Harry to his home four summers before.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Arthur murmured as Brand shook his head and moved off towards a tray table. "This is going to be a long and painful night."

"What – " Harry started, then he paused, clearing his throat. He waited just a moment, watching Arthur closely as the man took off his slightly rumpled robes and folded them carefully over a nearby chair. Underneath, the man wore simple slacks and a plain white button down, and his sleeves were rolled up slightly at the cuffs.

Altogether, aside from the slightly more pressed look of his clothes, the man didn't look so different than the one he had known for years. Then Harry realized – the man was holding himself differently. Gone was the tired slouch of the overworked, hen-pecked, long-suffering and mild-mannered husband and father of seven. In his place stood a calm and quietly confident man, who gave off an air that wouldn't feel out of place on Moody or Kingsley.

And Bill, he noticed, looked extremely unsettled, and was watching his father like a hawk.

"Mr. Weasley," he tried again, "What is going on?"

Arthur smiled genially, the same expression Harry had seen from the man a hundred times, but something about it felt different. Sitting on a nearby chair, he clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "It seems we've all let you down again, lad," the balding man replied. "You've tested for the taint, and we should have caught it quite some time ago. Indeed, I'm going to have to have words with Albus, see if I can find out how even _he_ missed it. Merlin knows, the man has a lot on his plate, and he's not getting any younger. Even the most brilliant of us have limits," Arthur mused. "But still, best to get it all out in the open."

Bill snorted, and Charlie stared at his brother, his jaw dropping slightly, as Harry peered curiously at the cursebreaker. Arthur simply raised an eyebrow without turning. "Bill," the man said evenly, a hardness in his tone, and his eldest son went silent.

Silent, Harry noticed, but still watching his father's every move.

"Long ago, Harry," Brand cut in suddenly, as he bustled around over by the counter, "there was a spellcrafter who wanted to change the world, and he didn't quite have my sunny disposition."

Harry and Charlie exchanged an incredulous look as Bill and Arthur both snorted, then Bill resumed glaring at the back of his father's head. Ignoring all the byplay, Brand picked up a beaker and swirled the contents, dropping something in after a few seconds. The liquid let out a loud 'pop' and a cloud of purple smoke wafted from the top, smelling strangely like lilacs. Brand nodded to himself then withdrew another small container from a cabinet.

Looking over his shoulder at Harry, he continued. "This man fought an uprising and won, but he had come close to dying in battle, and it scared him. He decided he wanted to find a way to live forever. So he found a way to split off sections of his soul, stick them in something else."

Harry felt bile rising in his throat and a sudden panic in the back of his mind. Arthur's eyes were gazing at him steadily, and Bill brushed by his father to sit on the side of the chaise with Harry, squeezing the younger boy's shoulder.

"As long as a piece of the soul survived," Arthur continued, "the person would be tethered to life, giving him the chance to perform certain necromancy rituals to return to his body."

"So…" Harry said shakily. "So I have a piece of _Voldemort_ inside my _head_?"

"It seems that way," Arthur said softly.

"And I am the one keeping him alive, giving him the chance to keep hurting people," the Potter scion concluded.

"Harry, don't look at it like – " Charlie began as Bill stiffened.

"But if I died – "

Bill exploded. "Fucking _hell_ , kid, don't _ever_ let me hear you say that _again!_ Do you think your parents died to protect you so you could off yourself? Do you think _Sirius_ did?"

Harry shrank back in his seat as Bill yelled, and Charlie watched them sadly as Brand continued to bustle around and Arthur looked nonchalantly around the room.

"Admirable though your selflessness is, Harry," the Weasley patriarch said calmly, as Bill struggled to calm himself down, "it is misplaced in this case. Your death is not necessary to resolve this issue. And indeed, while it may have been _some people's plan_ …"

Here, he glared at Brand, "It isn't mine." He smiled at Harry gently, then shot his eldest son an amused and endeared look. "Nor, apparently, would my eldest stand for it. The two of you have grown quite close rather quickly, haven't you?"

Bill scoffed, glaring balefully at his father.

Harry looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes, as the voice in the back of his mind continued to revolt. "I put your family in danger just by being near them, didn't I?" he asked defeatedly, and Arthur gazed at him sadly.

"Don't worry about that now, Harry," Arthur urged. "We'll never know how much of what's happened was caused by this, and there's no sense rehashing the past."

He clapped the boy lightly on the shoulder, smiled, and then stood and walked over to Brand. The other man immediately scowled, gesturing wildly, and Arthur shook his head vehemently, casting a privacy spell as the other man as he began to raise his voice. Mr. Weasley moved past the spellcrafter and began gathering items from the cabinets himself, clearly at home in this strange hospital slash lab space. The spell blocked Harry and the Weasley sons from hearing any of their words, but they could see them speaking, and Bill watched carefully, trying to read their lips.

"What the _fuck_ , Bill?" Charlie asked, pure bafflement in his voice, and Bill shook his head.

"The spell only goes one way," the cursebreaker warned, eyes narrowed, and Charlie stared at him.

"What – why…. It's _Dad_!" the dragon keeper spluttered, and Bill didn't reply. Turning instead to Harry, Bill shot the boy a hesitant, regretful smile.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Bill said quietly, and Harry sighed, looking over at the older man. Between all the shocks and confusions of the evening, the extremely late hour, and his general discomfort with shows of emotion or affection, Harry really wasn't sure what to say.

"Your dad is right," he settled on finally, "You really are taking this whole guardianship thing very seriously."

Bill shot him a glare, and Harry grinned. "Incorrigible," Bill muttered, shaking his head. After a moment, the cursebreaker frowned. "Too many people, Harry," he said. "Too many people have just expected you to fall on the chopping block, or dive in front of the curse, or solve all their problems. They shut you out or they shut you in. The more time I spent around you, the more I saw it." He looked away, eyed trained on the magicked windows. "I wanted to help you long before this summer, I just didn't know how to even begin."

Harry swallowed convulsively, squeezing his eyes shut. As the boy struggled to find his balance, Bill looked up, only to lock eyes with his father, standing beside them with a strange, sad look on his face. Arthur Weasley cleared his throat, reached out a hand towards Bill's shoulder – then thought better of it, and pulled his hand back.

"You're a good man, Bill," he said softly to his eldest son. "Never doubt that."

Bill looked at his father silently, then sighed. "So what now?" he asked, and Arthur let his son change the subject as Harry snapped back to attention.

"Now, I hold him down while Brand removes the taint."

"No," Bill said immediately, blue eyes flashing, and Harry felt a chill come over the air. "I'll do it."

"Son, you can't," Brand said calmly, and Harry glared at the man heatedly. He wasn't sure he wanted a man who would chop a little girl's hand off to get near him and do _anything_.

"Like hell," Bill snarled, but his father cut him off.

"Son, I know you're angry at me right now for keeping things from you, and I understand. And we _will_ talk later ," the Weasley patriarch said, a hint of impatience in his tone. "But this is going to get dicey, and Harry needs you in his corner. I won't let you take yourself away from him. You've clearly started to build a foundation here." Shooting his son a sad look, Mr. Weasley said quietly, "No matter what you may think right now… surely you realize I would never hurt Harry."

Bill subsided, something terrible flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant. Harry looked at Bill, at Mr. Weasley who stood there, utterly expressionless, at Charlie, who was swinging between confusion and anger. As he watched, Bill nodded roughly.

Arthur let out a sigh, then turned to Brand. "Take a Pepper Up if you must," he muttered. "This is probably going to take a while."

"I'll be in the room with you, Harry," Bill said earnestly, squeezing the teen's hand, and Harry shot him a grateful look.

"Actually," Arthur said quietly, "you can't."

And before Harry could react, Mr. Weasley had jabbed his wand forward, and Bill and Charlie both vanished from the room with a shout.

"Fuck, Arthur, I think that boy just might commit patricide if you keep it up," Brand chuckled, drawing a slender knife from a drawer.

"You're obscene," Arthur said flatly, then let out a weary sigh as Harry eyed Brand's knife nervously. "He'll be alright."

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Will you?" Brand snorted. "I had a chance to do a quick eval before you got here. Your boy? He's _good_ , Arthur. Better than you or I at his age."

"Bill is nothing like you," Arthur said with a sudden weariness, and Harry vehemently agreed.

The other man just grinned like a shark.

"Best buckle up, kid," Brand said gruffly as Arthur rolled up his sleeves. "We're in for a rough night."

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere in Scotland_

"Of course, my Lord," Snape murmured, kneeling impassively to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He stood in a smooth motion and swept from the chamber, robes billowing around him as he walked. It was a five minute walk to the point outside the wards, and he could not spare a second.

Shacklebolt's bloody Patronus had come at a wonderfully opportune time. The Dark Lord had been in the middle of demanding his report when the Auror's message came, frantically reporting that Hermione Granger had had another relapse. Snape stood silently before his lord as Malfoy and Greyback congratulated a smirking Dolohov, as the Dark Lord praised Snape for walking the line between curing and tormenting the girl.

There were plans for Hermione Granger, after all, but the Dark Lord wanted her to suffer all the same.

He hit the edge of the wards and spun on his heel, dropping just outside the Hogwarts gates –

And Severus Snape broke into a run. He hit the front steps and slammed the double doors open, just narrowly missing Shacklebolt. A sneer twisted Snape's thin lips. Of course, the Auror wouldn't miss a chance to castigate him.

"Where have you _been_?" the Auror demanded, falling into step beside Snape as they made their way to the hospital wing.

"Terribly sorry," Snape replied. "Next time, I'll simply tell Voldemort he has to wait, I have to go save his mortal enemy's best friend."

The Auror simply glared at him. "She's – "

"Calm yourself," Snape said drolly, "Granger is not dying tonight."

Then Poppy's summons hit him, and with no thought to Shacklebolt, he made the next two flights of stairs and three corridors in under five minutes. He stalked into the hospital ward, ignoring Dumbledore and Minerva, and made his way straight to the girl's bed, glancing for a moment at Poppy hovering over the girl.

"Her ratings are over 80%," the mediwitch said frantically, and Snape shot her a quelling look as he raised his wand, skimming it up the length of the girl's prone form.

Poppy fell silent. Talented mediwitch though she might be, here, _he_ was the expert.

Snape nodded sharply to himself as the readings came back, and he looked up at Poppy dismissively. "Stand back," he demanded, and the woman shot him an uneasy look but took four steps backwards.

The Potions Master immediately drew a circle around the bed with his wand, a shimmering dark curtain springing to life and blocking himself and the girl from sight. He heard Shacklebolt shout in protest and smirked, flicking his wand once more to put up a silencing spell.

Reaching into his robes, he withdrew two vials, one with a thick, viscous red liquid, and one with a golden sheen. He reached down and gently forced the girl's mouth open, pouring the potions down the girl's throat, then tapped his own wrist with his wand.

 _Remember to thank the Dark Lord for being a test subject,_ he thought idly as his wrist split open, blood flowing freely. He set his wand down on the table carefully – he didn't need it for this part – and leaned over the still girl, pressing his bloodied wrist to her lips. A sense of irony washed over him and he struggled not to laugh. The vampire rumors would start all over again if anyone could have seen through the privacy field.

A long stream of Latin and Romanian spilled from his lips as the man held his wrist against the girl's mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as the magic reached a high point, and the air around them turned dark and heavy.

He could smell rot, and sulfur, and Severus Snape felt perdition reaching through the veil.

With a final whispered spell, Snape reached down and pressed his hand to Granger's neck, fingers over her pulse as he commanded her very blood. The book he had borrowed from the Dark Lord's own collection had been clear – this would be enough to slow the poison. It would still build, and it might still kill her, but if her treatments were followed correctly, she would likely be okay.

Likely.

And if the spell had a few – _side effects_ – well, who would know how they came to pass?

A whimper suddenly sprung from the girl's lips, and Snape looked down at her, his dark eyes glittering, and he almost –

No.

He stepped back, rearranging the folds of his robes, and picked his wand up from the bedside table. He quickly removed the traces of blood from the girl's lips, and healed his wrist, before stepping back and setting a couple empty vials by the bed, quickly conjuring the IV contraption.

As far as anyone else was concerned, he had _improved_ the formulation for her treatments. And with none of them, even Granger, knowing what he had done –

He glanced around the scene quickly, shot another look down at Granger's face – her color was already coming back, he noted with no small amount of smugness. That book was good for something after all.

His eyes lingered on her still form, but Snape wrenched himself away, banished the curtains and the silencing spell, and stepped back, wrapping the IV lines back around the cart. With a quick wave of his wand, he banished the contraption back to his rooms and stalked from the room as the others rushed forward.

He shouldered by Shacklebolt as he left the infirmary, aware of the man's eyes following him from the room. Without looking back, he ducked through a tapestry just down the corridor, and emerged two floors down. He made his way quickly to the dungeons and passed his own quarters, continuing down into the lower levels.

Fifteen minutes of traversing the dark cell block found him in his own little hideaway. With a glance behind himself, and a quick spell to be sure he was alone, Snape tapped the stones of the wall in the fourth cell back, and stepped through the opening, sealing the room shut behind himself.

He definitely needed to cool off after _that_.

 

* * *

 

_The Rookery_

_Ottery St. Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

Luna sat quietly on the roof, her eyes trained on the stars. She'd never been a sound sleeper, but especially not tonight, not when two of her friends struggled to cling to life. Not when she was afraid.

The blonde girl flinched as she felt another flash of searing heat build in her veins, and she cried as the feeling vanished as quickly as it came. Hermione was a very private person, she knew, and she wouldn't like it if she knew Luna could feel every pain she could.

So Luna, of course, would never tell. She just hoped Hermione told everyone that she was sick _soon_. Pretending not to know was so very hard.

She frowned as a shadow loomed over her friend in her mind. Luna knew that shadow was familiar, she just couldn't quite –

Then Harry's ragged scream echoed in her mind. All other thoughts vanished as she focused on the Gryffindor boy, and she sensed a friendly hand, the hand rubbing reassuringly on his shoulder even as the hand held Harry down. A searing pain in her forehead and Luna felt as though she were going to vomit, and she gasped for breath as the wind was knocked out of her. She balled her shaking hands into fists, chest heaving, eyes screwed shut as she struggled not to scream –

"Luna!" Neville's frantic voice broke through the fog in her mind, and as she pitched to the side and started to fall, her friend dragged her back from the edge.

Luna felt another searing flash in her forehead, heard Neville asking her what was happening – then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N:** okay, then! so now things are really off the ground, and the struggles are underway for our fine friends. since i have a small foundation established, i am now going to revert to an every week or every other week update schedule. I have the next several chapters fleshed out already, but I’m filling in a ton of blanks in this rewrite that I left open in the original version, so it isn’t a simple edit job. luckily, all is still on the right - and somewhat unsettling - track. 

Reviews are like root beer floats (but the A&W kind, not that sharp Mug stuff, blech)  - always appreciated!

~*~ALIBI


	4. Before I Wake

_Abbott Home_  
_St Albans, England_  
_July 24, 1996_

 

Hannah couldn’t sleep.

She turned over balefully in her bed, eyes screwed shut as she tried to force herself to drift off. It was well past one am, she knew, and she had a review session with her DA team the next – that – morning. She needed to sleep. Merlin knew, she wasn’t the quickest draw in their group, and she didn’t need to hamper her reflexes even further.

But her mind just. Wouldn’t. STOP.

Hannah let out a heavy sigh and sat up dramatically, tossing her blankets off the bed to the floor. She pulled her legs up to her chest and pillowed her head on her knees, shoving her hands in her long hair. After a couple slow, steady breaths, she pushed herself up into a seated position, then grabbed her wand and scooted out of bed.

Hannah had struggled with insomnia since she could remember. When she was a toddler, an older cousin had accidentally hit her with an overpowered Ennervate – showing off for some girl, her mother always declared angrily – and ever since, Hannah had trouble sleeping more than a handful of hours at a time. Her parents had taken her to mediwizards, potioneers – even dabbled with Muggle medicine. Nothing helped. By this point, coming up on sixteen years old, Hannah was used to functioning off of little sleep.

But even for her, an hour was bad. She’d be useless in practice. Ernie would never let her live it down.

With a groan, she threw herself into her chair by the window, staring out into the garden. Her home outside the city was tucked away in a grove that looked like wilds to any passing Muggles, but Hannah had always loved her house. If she squinted sometimes, she could almost see the lights from St Albans Cathedral, as the fairies came out in droves to play after the town had gone to sleep.

She hated not being able to sleep, but she loved these moments of quiet, the stillness and peacefulness in the night. Hogwarts was always so full of life, so frantic – and with her brothers and sisters, her home was much the same.

Which reminded her. She really should go check on her little sister – dad was probably still trying to sleep off his cold. She smiled sadly at the thought of her father, working to try to take care of them all by himself while she was off at school.

It had been a hard year.

Hannah slipped into the hallway quietly, tiptoeing so as not to wake the twins and her oldest brother. If any one of the two four year olds and or nine year old woke, the entire house would be up within moments. She peeked in on them anyway, grinning as she saw her youngest brothers tangled in one bed, Andy’s elbow just under Erik’s cheek. No matter what she and her father did – and her mother, before – they just couldn’t get those two to sleep in separate beds.

Hannah shook her head fondly and continued on down the hall, easing carefully into her baby sister’s room. Little Emily’s room was decked out in swirls of pink and white, with enough lace and ruffles to make any princess proud. The remaining pile of gifts that Emily had tired of ripping into were piled by the rocking chair in the corner, all covered in wrapping paper with little cartoon owls shooting across the front. A fox mobile spun above her baby sister’s crib, and the just-turned one year old was sleeping contentedly, her thumb jammed into her mouth and her little body splayed above the covers.

Hannah smiled softly, reaching down to brush a tuft of hair back from Emily’s eyes –

Then spun suddenly, her wand clenched in her grip as her hands shook and her eyes narrowed. The thud sounded again, and she whispered nervously, “Hello?”

Silence echoed through the room, and her breath came out in a shaky exhale as she looked around, moving carefully to stand between her baby sister and the door. “Dad?” she tried again, but no one answered.

The thud sounded again, then something almost like branches lashing a window – _but there’s no storm tonight_ , Hannah thought frantically. _Someone is –_

She swallowed, then steeled herself with another shaky breath. Spinning around, she shot a quick Disillusionment charm at her sister, then herself, then Hannah darted out into the hallway, moving as silently as she could. She could see her father in his bed at the end of the hall, snoring loudly, and shot a silencing and disillusioning charm his way as well, before moving quickly past her brothers’ rooms. A louder thud echoed through the house, and she thanked Merlin that her best friend’s Aunt had the ability to have such powerful wards placed –

Then she made it to the top of the stairs, and the front door blew in silently. Hannah jumped a foot in the air as three men appeared, all wrapped in black cloaks with white masks, and she had to clap her hands over her mouth to stop from screaming. She backed away carefully, her back hitting the wall, and struggled to be still as the men swept into her home.

As she watched, the middle one ripped off his mask and peered around, his face twisted in a horrible scowl. “Spread out,” he said tersely, “find them.”

The other two men nodded and one disappeared towards her kitchen, the other going down towards the basement. The leader looked up the stairs, his wand held aloft, then moved in Hannah’s direction with slow, deliberate steps. Shaking, Hannah felt in her pocket for the D.A. coin, and carefully pointed her wand at the small metal talisman.

The man passed her in the hallway, and Hannah swallowed, closing her eyes as she tried to stop her hand shaking. She turned and followed him, watching as he looked into every room then snorted with disgust.

The other two men came clambering up the stairs, no longer trying to keep quiet, and joined their leader in the hallway just outside Emily’s room. Carefully skirting around the three, Hannah eased her way from the opposite side of the hallway to stand right by her sister’s door. She hovered there nervously, watching as the group looked around with matching scowls.

“There’s no one here,” the shortest one said angrily. “This was a waste of time. Let’s just – ”

Then Hannah let out a sigh of relief, and the leader froze. She tried to go still, but –

A hand shot across the hallway and grabbed her by the throat, and Hannah struggled for breath as she was lifted off her feet. She clawed at the hand as her vision greyed around the edges, and she distantly heard her wand clatter to the floor. The man was giving her a nasty smile as he put the tip of his wand directly against her temple and hissed, “Finite Incantatum.”

Hannah felt a rippling over her body and the man’s hand loosened on her throat. She gasped for air as the man stared at her steadily.

“Clever girl,” he whispered, “but not clever enough.”

A tear slipped down Hannah’s face as she hung from the man’s hold, her throat and lungs burning.

The men behind him began cackling, and he shot a glare at them before barking out, “Spread out! Find the others.” Hannah began struggling again, a red haze clouding her mind as the two men slipped off into her brothers’ rooms, and shouts of “Avada Kedavra” echoed through the house. One of the men came back and disappeared into her dad’s room, and Hannah felt something inside herself snap.

The leader was still standing there, hand around her throat as Hannah’s family died around her, as she struggled to keep breathing. “Let’s go get your sister, shall we?” the man whispered to her.

Time seemed to freeze as she finally moved, and she swung her right leg with all her might, her knee slamming the man between his legs. Her captor grunted, his hand unclenching and dropping her to the ground as he fell over, wheezing. Hannah snatched up her wand and shot to her feet, not even bothering with a spell as she ran to her sister’s crib. She cradled the little girl in her arms and tucked her sister’s head under her chin, then pointed her wand at the window as she heard her attacker struggle to his feet.

“Reducto!” Hannah gasped out, and the window shattered, shards of glass scouring her face, and her baby sister began to shriek. She tightened her grip on Emily and took a deep breath, then put down her head and ran full-out at the window, jumping straight out into the night. She heard a shout behind her as she landed roughly, her feet knocked out from under her and her knees jarring, and her baby sister was still crying. Hannah jumped up and bolted for the street as the man climbed down behind her, and her lungs heaved as she tried to force herself ahead –

And a sudden pop, and Professor Lupin stood across the street. The man ran at her, grabbing her in his arms as her invisible baby sister continued to wail. Hannah let out a sob as he tucked her head into his shoulder with one hand and pointed his wand behind them with the other. A blistering heat streamed by her –

And they were gone.

* * *

   
_The Burrow_  
_Ottery St. Catchpole_  
_Devon, England_

Ron was used to going without sleep. Life as Harry Potter’s – and even Hermione’s, really – best friend involved a certain amount of stress, sleeplessness, and danger. It was par for the course, and it was rather normal for him.

But Ron was fairly certain he was never going to be able to sleep again.

Ron and his mother had just finished speaking with Dumbledore. They had just woken their unexpected Muggle houseguest from her faint. She had latched on to Percy – Percy – as a safety net, refusing to let go of his arm. Percy had, for once, stood up and refused authority, adamantly insisting the woman not be Obliviated.

Ron was fairly sure the look of hero-worship in the girl’s eyes had something to do with that.

After hemming and hawing and absent smiles from Dumbledore, they had decided to save the conversation for morning and Percy had bundled the woman up, leading her up to Charlie’s room to settle down for the night. Dumbledore had Floo’d away and Ron’s mother had watched the stairs with a scowl, and Ron had just sat down with his head in his hands, trying to catch his breath from the insanity that had taken over his night.

Then Hannah’s emergency beacon had come across the D.A. Coin, and no sooner had Ron managed to send off a Patronus to Lupin than the man was standing in their front walk, a sobbing Hannah and a screaming baby in tow. Ginny shouldered by Ron and ran to Hannah, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and talking in low, soothing voices as she steered their classmate inside. Ron looked at Lupin questioningly, and the older man shook his head with a frown. The man disappeared with a quiet pop, returning a moment later with a stone-faced Neville and a crying Luna on his arms. Luna ran into the house as Neville stood there and stared straight ahead.

“Harry still in Germany?” Neville asked after a moment, and Ron nodded. “And Hermione?”

“Hogwarts infirmary,” Shacklebolt’s deep voice sounded behind them, and Ron looked up at Shacklebolt and Moody, who had just appeared on the path. “Tonks is sitting with her.”

Lupin shot a look at Shacklebolt as Ron grimaced.

“Is she okay?” Neville asked immediately, “was she…”

“No,” Shacklebolt said immediately. “She wasn’t attacked. Just sick.”

Neville let out a relieved sigh and scrubbed a hand over his eyes, then trudged tiredly into Ron’s house. Ron just stood there, eyes narrowed as he looked at the trio of men standing before him.

“What aren’t you saying?” he asked slowly, and Shacklebolt shook his head as the other two men scowled.

“You’ll have to ask her, Ron,” Lupin said gently, then he clapped a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Let’s go deal with what’s in front of us, shall we?”

Ron stared at the man a moment more, then nodded, turning and preceding them into the house.

Someone must have Floo called Susan Bones, he noticed idly, because the red-haired, curvy Hufflepuff sat on his couch with Hannah curled into her side and weeping. As he watched, his mother looked over the pair with a teary-eyed frown, then swept her gaze over Ron and the adult Order members and bustled off into the kitchen. Neville was perched on the arm of Luna’s chair, a hand on her shoulder, and the blond Ravenclaw looked rather unsteady herself.

None of the adults were saying anything, and Ginny was shooting him a look, so Ron cleared his throat and sat on the coffee table in front of Hannah. Susan glanced at him for a second, then went back to rubbing Hannah’s back as the smaller witch clung tightly to her baby sister, who had thankfully cried herself to sleep.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Hannah sniffled, dragging one hand over her eyes, and let out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said haltingly, her voice hoarse and low. Ginny’s eyebrows raised as the other girl spoke, and Ron knew why – Hannah’s voice was usually a bit high. “I went to check on my sister, and I heard banging outside – everyone else was asleep, and I didn’t have time to wake them up and get them out, so… I hid them. Disillusioned, so I could go check it out. But – ”

Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. “Clever,” Ginny said finally, and Hannah snorted.

“That’s what _he_ said,” she said angrily. “I messed up, and he heard me, and he figured it out. He – he killed – I couldn’t – ”

She dissolved into tears again, and Ron swallowed as his sister gave him a meaningful look. “Hannah, you – ” he began.

But a sudden heat seared into his side, and he jumped up, swearing violently as he fished his DA coin out of his pocket. Ginny and Neville were already shooting to their feet, with Luna standing a little more slowly. Ron fumbled with the coin for a second then swore again. “The Creevys and the Patils,” he bit out, and Lupin and Moody nodded, each of them moving quickly for the door. Their sharp pops echoed through the air and Ron swore as the coin heated again. As he looked down at the coin, the letters flew across the surface, and Brown gleamed in the center.

“Lavender Brown’s house!” He spun towards Shacklebolt, and the man ran out of the room. The coin heated again and –

Susan was staring at him, a look of horror on her face. “This isn’t random,” she whispered. “They are targeting us. They are targeting the DA.” She jumped from the couch and ran over to the fireplace, throwing powder quickly into the flames. “Amelia Bones office!” she shouted, but Ron was already moving. Spinning on his heel, he turned to his sister.

“Get to Hermione’s, find the master coin,” he told her hurriedly, “send out an alert, everyone go to ground! Let them know we’ll contact them as soon as we can, but run now. Follow the plan.”

Ginny nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, Luna following her, and Ron heard them jump into the kitchen fire and the woosh of them vanishing. Behind him, Amelia Bones stepped into the house, glaring at him over her monocle, and Ron turned to meet her gaze as Lupin reappeared, alone.

Ron’s heart sank, and he let out a shaky breath and sat down hard in a chair.

Amelia Bones was still standing there, looking at him.

And Shacklebolt appeared in the doorway – also alone, Ron noticed miserably – and stepped forward, capturing his boss’s attention, and Ron sank into the couch, his hands shaking, as Shacklebolt explained the events to the terrifying woman.

 _Harry, Hermione,_ he thought, _get back here. I need you._

 

* * *

 

 _Shell Cottage_  
_Tinworth, Cornwall_  
_July 25, 1996_

 

Everything hurt.

Harry woke with a gasp, reflexively shoving up into a sitting position. Fiery jolts shot through every nerve and vein in his body and his chest heaved as he struggled to take a breath. Everything was blurry and the room was spinning and he –

“Easy, son!” a voice cut through his panic, and a pair of chapped hands settled on his shoulders. Harry jerked back against the contact, starting as he took in the blurry features of Arthur Weasley.

The older man frowned and sat on the edge of the bed – the bed in Harry’s room at the cottage, the teen realized as his heart rate slowed – his hands clasped in his lap.

“Breathe, Harry,” Arthur said softly, a strange look flitting across his face. Harry shook his head, screwing his eyes shut as another spasm of pain wracked through his body, then let out a slow, shaky breath as the pounding in his head dulled to a steady thrum.

He let out another breath, then another, then finally scrubbed his hand across his eyes and leaned heavily against the wall.

“What happened?” he asked. “How long was I asleep? And where’s Bill?”

Mr. Weasley grinned wryly, his stiff posture relaxing slightly. “Well, in order – it worked, but it was touch and go for a while there – for you and for me. Your magic was trying to defend you against the invasion, even though we were trying to remove something harmful to you, so it was an exciting night. It is just after dawn on the 25th, and you’ve been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours. And Bill is in his shed outside. I kicked him out about four hours ago to get some sleep, but of course he didn’t listen.”

Harry just looked at the Weasley patriarch, his brow furrowed. A million questions were coursing through his mind – why the man knew someone like Brand, how he had worked with him, why no one seemed to know, why Bill was so angry – but he ended up asking, “For me and you?”

Arthur let out a strange sound, half laugh, half regretful sigh. “For a moment there, I thought Bill was going to kill me,” he admitted, and Harry stared. The man’s eyes seemed to unfocus for a second, then he shook his head and seemed to gather himself. “I’m going to have to head back to Molly soon. But you must be hungry, and thirsty,” he murmured. “I’ll get you something, shall I?” As Harry watched, Arthur got tiredly to his feet and moved quickly out of the room.

Harry stared at the other man’s retreating back as he once again tried to sit up straight. It was easier this time – the pain felt like flames licking through his body, rather than his blood practically boiling in his veins. The ache pounded on in his head like a steady drumbeat, and spots swam before his eyes, but Harry closed his eyes, let out another shaky breath, and remained upright. He counted to three, opened his eyes, and willed the pain to retreat.

It didn’t, but it did seem to fade just a little bit more.

The door swung inward again and Arthur Weasley reappeared, a tray floating before him and Bill and Charlie on his heels. Charlie trudged into the room with his spiky hair a mess and a red mark on his cheek, rubbing his hand over his mouth repeatedly. The dragonkeeper quirked a grin at Harry and settled heavily in the armchair by the window, his eyes darting back and forth between his brother and his father. The senior Weasley ignored them all, setting the tray down across Harry’s lap with a slight smile, and gestured to the food as Bill moved to sit in the small folding chair right next to Harry.

“How are you feeling?” Bill asked in a low, urgent voice, his eyes narrowed as he looked over the teen.

Harry shrugged, wincing as the motion jostled his sore muscles. “Like my insides were set on fire and scrubbed raw,” he said honestly, too tired to bother to hide it. “It’s already loads better than when I first woke up.”

The three other men in the room let out a collective relieved breath, and Harry looked at Bill questioningly.

“The procedure that was performed on you was extremely risky,” the cursebreaker explained. “Many have died from it in the past, apparently. I’ve been researching possible side effects while you were sleeping – we’re going to have to check you for some things.”

“But,” Harry replied slowly, “Mr. Weasley, you said it worked, right?”

The eldest Weasley frowned slightly. “We were successful in removing the taint. We weren’t yet able to check all the possible impacts, not with you unconscious.”

Harry shook his head. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to think about this yet. Picking up his spoon, he scooped up a small helping of porridge, frowning at the bowl.

“We have other things we need to discuss,” Bill added suddenly, his eyes boring into his father, and as Harry watched, Charlie jerked in the armchair, sitting up quickly.

Arthur Weasley let out a tired sigh. “Now is not the time, boys,” he said softly, and without another word, the Weasley patriarch turned and walked out of the room.

Charlie’s jaw dropped, but Bill, Harry saw, just stared at the doorway with narrowed eyes.

Something, Harry realized, was very, very wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Granger Household_  
_London, England_  
_July 26, 1996_

 

Hermione sat silently on her windowseat, knees tucked to her chest as she stared out at the ever-present rain. Her trunk was packed and waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Crookshanks, whom she had captured twenty minutes earlier, was yowling pitifully in his carrier. Her parents sat in the kitchen, waiting nervously for the arrival of Snape, Lupin, and Tonks.

They'd done fairly well that morning, she reflected. They had only asked her to stay the whole summer four times. They had only begged her to transfer to an American or Australian school twice. She'd rather expected worse.

But Hermione had put her foot down, and informed her parents that she wasn't going to let any jumped-up Hitler copycat force her out of her own country, her own life, and they had gone quiet and let it go.

If they noticed her shelves and closets were a bit more barren than they would usually be before her yearly departure, if they noticed the note left on their bed, they made no comment.

A soft rustling sound near her door drew her eyes, and she looked over to see Daniel Granger standing in the doorway. "All set to go, Pumpkin?" he asked softly, and she smiled.

Shuffling his feet nervously, the man hovered in the doorway a moment before walking in to sit on the edge of her bed. He looked at his daughter as if he were trying to memorize her face, his eyes suspiciously bright.

"Hermione," he said haltingly, "I know your – your professor and Poppy explained to us that this... that what's wrong with you is rather bad."

Hermione said nothing.

"But I want you to know your mother and I, we won't give up on you. We won't leave you. And you're a fighter, you always have been. We _know_ you'll beat this thing."

Tears in his eyes, Daniel Granger looked into the eyes of his only child. "I just need to hear you say that you know you will."

Hermione flinched. "Daddy," she whispered, "I – "

"I saw the note," he interrupted. "And I understand why you want to protect us. I'm telling you now, you do not have our permission to meddle with our memories and send us away. You are not the parent here, and you have no right to take away our memories of you." She flinched again, and still she was silent. "If we have to live in that ridiculous headquarters of yours, so be it!" he added forcefully. "But I refuse to forget you."

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stared out the window. "It's safer that way."

Daniel Granger shook his head, crossing the room to kneel next to his daughter. With a sad smile, he took her chilled hands in his. "It's _pointless_ that way," he replied, and Hermione choked back a sob.

Releasing her hands, he stood and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Someday," he said softly as he stood, "I imagine you'll understand." Turning, he left the room, nodding to the entering Professor Snape as he left.

The dour professor froze in the doorway, taking in his student's tear-streaked face. She turned and looked at him challengingly, and he bit back a curse. "It's not too late to change your mind," he said instead.

Hermione shook her head.

"Very well," said the professor, and turning on his heel, he stalked into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan and Emma Granger looked up at him from their kitchen table, sad smiles on their faces. "She's doing worse today," Emma told him softly, and Snape grimaced.

"There have been many studies proving a connection between physical and mental well-being," he replied, his hand clenched around his wand in his pocket. "Unfortunately, as she tires, her depression will likely worsen. There are potions to combat it, and there is the old-fashioned remedy of company, but only so much can be done."

Emma Granger closed her eyes, tears prickling at the corners. "Promise me," she whispered, as her husband grasped her hand. "Promise you'll look after her."

Severus Snape looked at the muggle woman and said softly, "I promise." He drew his wand, trained on the woman and her husband.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione crept down the hallway, careful to avoid the creaky steps. She paused outside the kitchen door and listened with bated breath.

"-promise," Professor Snape said quietly. A pause, and then –

" _Obliviate_ ," he intoned, and Hermione sagged against the wall, tears of loss, tears of relief, streaming down her face. Moments later, the professor came through the kitchen doors, looking unsurprised to see her there.

"Get everything," he said tersely, sliding a vial holding strands of light brown hair into his pocket. "Lupin and Tonks will be here any minute now."

She nodded and moved silently to the front hallway, where her trunk and Crookshanks waited, and within the space of ten minutes, all magic had vanished from the house.

Hermione Granger walked out the door of her childhood home, never to return.

 

* * *

 

  
_Dora’s Flat_  
_London, England_  
_July 28, 1996_

 

Tonks was restless.

She paced up and down the small study, twirling her wand in one hand as she glared at the walls. Her steps were careful and quiet, no matter that she had spelled the entire room to block any noise in.

She wasn’t much used to having a house-guest, but she was pretty sure that terminally ill, traumatized teenage girls who had just erased her parents’ memories of – well, Tonks was pretty sure Hermione needed sleep.

But the girl had been there for a day, and she'd been quiet and withdrawn, but mostly Hermione-like. Tonks had a feeling the kid was holding up, like she always seemed to do.

She, on the other hand, was not.

She stopped in place, staring at the board on her wall with a scowl. Over the last week, she had checked every single known hang-out, every known associate of Bellatrix Lestrange, and what had it gotten her?

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

“Can’t even avenge your family right,” Tonks scoffed at herself, scrubbing a hand over her tired eyes as her hair turned bright red.

It was barely 1 am, and she’d been up for three nights running, pacing this room, trying to find an angle. Trying to find someone she hadn’t thought to shake down, somewhere she hadn’t thought to check.

Well, when she was off the streets, rather.

With a frown, Tonks stopped mid-stride, her brow furrowed. A crumpled picture was taped to the wall, the edges curling in on themselves. She stepped forward, peeling the picture off the wall, and stared down at the image in her hand.

By birth and genetics, Dora Tonks looked exactly like her dear aunt Bellatrix, which was exactly why she had always chosen a different form. And years of playing with different builds and facial features had left her with an uncanny eye for faces.

She looked across the images taped to the wall, her eyes suddenly picking up the pattern she had missed. In every one of her photos staking out the White Wyvern, each time for over three years –

The same man. Looking straight at her.

She swore harshly, snatching another of the pictures off the wall, and shot out of the room, almost tripping over the threshold. Pressing a hand against the wall to steady herself, she moved more carefully down the hallway and peered into the guest room she’d made over for Hermione. The teen witch was asleep, the small figurine by her bed at rest as well.

No time like the present, Tonks thought with a vicious smirk, and with a quick wave of her wand, she shot a Patronus off to Shack. She moved quickly through the flat, grabbing her dagger from under the false bottom in her end table, her satchel from behind a wall panel, and she slipped into the hallway, closing the flat’s door quietly behind herself. Pressing her hand to the doorframe, she murmured the activation key for the wards – _thanks, Bill_ – she thought idly, then all but bolted down the stairs.

A couple Apparition jumps, and Tonks landed in an alley behind the tavern, slipping quickly into the shadows. She shifted quickly, her frame becoming more curvy, her hair longer, wavy, and a gleaming golden blonde. She smiled, testing her new face, and her now sparkling blue eyes gleamed in the darkness.

Tonks tapped her wand on her side, and her jeans and ripped t-shirt transformed into a curve-hugging sheath dress. With another quick wave of her wand, her trainers became four-inch pumps, and Tonks walked out of the alley, striding down the street into the White Wyvern.

The door shut roughly behind her, a sudden gust of freezing wind ushering her inside, and Tonks looked across the tavern and smiled.

She moved carefully across the crowded room, eyes on her target, and put on a flirtatious smile, sliding up behind the man at the pool table and putting a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder. The man didn’t say a word, just turned around with a smug smile and looked her up and down.

It didn’t take long – about fifteen minutes in a dark corner and Tonks wrapped a hand around the man’s neck and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.” She shot the man another coquettish smile, sauntering towards the door, and the poor sod actually followed.

Three hours later, Tonks was walking back up the steps of her flat, a trace of blood still on her hands. She trudged through her door and stopped dead just inside, staring blearily at the sight of Shack and Remus. Remus was sitting on her battered couch, a set of cards held between his fingers and a cigar between his lips, and Shack – six foot four, two hundred eighty pound Shack – was sitting cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, a tumbler of whiskey by his elbow on her coffee table and a hand of cards thrown on the ground.

A wry smile twisted her lips as she stalked across the living room and sank onto the couch beside Lupin, immediately toppling over onto his side. The older man shifted obligingly, putting his shoulder more firmly under her head, and Tonks bit back another smile.

She was wearing him down, she just knew it.

“You’re such a sore loser, Shack,” she muttered, and her partner scoffed.

“I wasn’t losing,” he protested, and Lupin chuckled. “Where the bloody hell did you go now?” Shack continued, changing the subject, and Tonks scowled.

Forcing herself into a seated position, the metamorphmagus reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded the paper and smoothed it on the coffee table between them, and Lupin and Shack both leaned forward in interest.

“I found a watchman for the White Wyvern,” she said quietly. “And here is the name of every single Death Eater or sympathizer he has seen in the tavern. Including,” she said with a smirk, “five ministry workers who have met with dear Bella in the last three months.”

Lupin frowned, reaching out to tap the fourth name from the bottom. “Is that – ?”

Kingsley stood up, his face set and his eyes flashing. “I’ll Firecall Dumbledore.”

Tonks leaned back on her couch, eyes closed as she tried to wash away the memory of the past several hours. On the sheet on her table, the name Sturgis Podmore gleamed in the firelight.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _Shell Cottage_  
_Tinworth, Cornwall_  
_July 28, 1996_

 

 _This little beach,_ Harry thought wryly to himself, _is getting crowded._

He sat on the sand with his legs stretched slightly before him, wincing every so often as a twinge shot through his body. It was getting late, but not quite sundown, and the waves were crashing harder and harder along the shore as the air grew cooler. He watched the spray on the rocks as his mind raced, and let out a quiet sigh.

The Order was still gathered at Grimmauld, all of them probably shouting at each other as Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, McGonagall, Shack and Arthur Weasley closeted themselves in the study. Harry hadn’t been able to take it anymore after the group had been gone from the room five minutes. The entire Order had dissolved into arguments and screaming matches soon after Shacklebolt had announced that Sturgis Podmore was wanted for questioning, and that the Order would be dedicating a group to searching for the man.

Harry had immediately looked to Dumbledore – the man was one of his headmaster’s dearest friends.

The eccentric old wizard just looked sad.

After the fifth inflammatory remark from Diggle, Harry had shoved his chair back and stalked to his feet, storming from the room and heading straight for the Floo. He hadn’t even said anything to Bill, hadn’t waited for his guardian’s reaction or permission, just went straight back to the cottage, to peace and quiet and a lack of infighting.

It wasn’t even thirty seconds later that Ginny came after him, and the two of them had sat silently on the beach for an hour, just watching the waves.

The rest of their small group had trickled in over the course of another thirty minutes, and Ron reported heavily that Dumbledore had had to break up the fighting with a loud, gong-like spell when he and the others had returned. The Order was not taking well to the idea of searching for one of their own.

“He’s redoing the Fidelius, from what Mad-Eye said,” Ron went on. The lanky ginger was tossing a flat shell back and forth between his hands as he dug his heels into the sand. A little ways behind him, Ginny and Luna were walking along the edge of the water, Ginny gesturing wildly as Luna watched her with a pensive expression. “And everyone is taking Veritaserum. Anyone who refuses will be memory charmed.”

“Not taking any chances this time,” Hermione murmured, a frown twisting her face. She shoved one hand into her mass of hair and closed her eyes, sighing. “But that won’t detect the Imperius curse, and Snape says you can build up a resistance to Veritaserum.”

Harry, Ron and Neville shared a look, but the three all ignored the reference to their Potions Master.

“I’m not saying it doesn’t matter that there may be a traitor in the Order,” Harry said finally, “but we aren’t sharing all our secrets with them anyway. No one knows where this cottage is but Dumbledore, the Weasleys, and all of you. Krum just Portkeys in. Hermione, no one but Shacklebolt, Tonks and Lupin know you’re staying with Tonks, or where your parents are. And Moody?” He scoffed. “I think our training is a fairly safe secret.”

“So, what?” Ginny asked from their right, and the others swung their gazes to her as Ginny and Luna joined the group. Ginny practically threw herself down on the blanket Hermione had conjured. “Are you saying it doesn’t matter if the Order is compromised?”

Harry shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m saying we have other problems to worry about.”

“We have to worry about our own people,” Neville agreed quietly.

The black-haired teen flinched, turning his gaze to the waves, and the whole group fell silent. Harry flexed his wrist slightly, fighting back a wince as white-hot pain flared through his body.

He didn’t remember much, but it came to him in flashes – Arthur Weasley’s kindly face blank and expressionless, the older man’s fingers digging into a Harry ‘s shoulders, holding him down – the psychotic spellcrafter injecting something into Harry’s temples and a searing pain in his head, and the _smell_ …

Harry swallowed convulsively, and closed his eyes.

And while he was strapped to a table, his classmates had been losing their families. Or been killed themselves.

He opened his eyes and met Hermione’s worried gaze. Shaking off his sudden sorrow, he shrugged.

“I’m not suggesting cutting ties with the Order, or that it doesn’t matter,” he responded in an easy tone, and Hermione relaxed fractionally. “I just think we need to focus on what to do about the D.A.”

The last several days had been hellish for everyone, Harry knew. After the attacks on the D.A., the surviving members had gone into hiding, and it had taken over a day to regain contact with everyone. Moody had returned with the two Creevy brothers in tow after being gone more than an hour, but the brothers’ parents and younger sibling had been killed. Lavender Brown had been with Padma and Parvati Patil, and Lupin had found them and the rest of the Patil family in a gruesome scene. And Michael Corner, Ginny’s ex-boyfriend, had been found with his family, Kissed by Dementors and arranged around their living room in a mockery of life.

Every day, Harry felt his hatred towards Voldemort grow.

“We can’t bring them all to Grimmauld Place,” Ron countered, “and their families? Remember Dumbledore when he found out about Amelia Bones?”

Ginny, Neville, and Luna winced, and Harry and Hermione just sighed. They had not been there when Dumbledore discovered Susan Bones had brought her aunt to the Burrow, but the others had described the shouting match that followed. None but Harry had ever seen Dumbledore lose his temper, and they were still in shock.

Even more so, because Amelia Bones had shouted _back_.

But the cat had been well and truly let out of the bag, and Amelia Bones had seen the strange gathering at the Burrow – enough to figure out that the rumors she’d heard were true – and Dumbledore had bowed to reason and extended the invitation. They were just lucky that she saw the wisdom in keeping the secret from Cornelius Fudge.

“But,” Ginny added, “speaking of Bones, the unplottable spells she put on the DA’s safe houses? They should be all right.”

“Except how many Death Eaters know how to get around those?” Neville asked quietly, and Harry closed his eyes again as Parvati Patil’s face flashed before his eyes. “How many work in the Ministry?”

He’d been a horrible date to Parvati, back at the Yule Ball.

And how stupid was it, that that was his thought right now?

“That aside, this has all proven two things,” Hermione continued. “One, they need to be better able to protect themselves.”

“And two,” Neville added, “if they’re going to be any help protecting the school, they need to be better trained.”

“But we still can’t bring them to Grimmauld,” Ron stated.

“And Bill won’t extend the wards that much, so we can’t bring them here,” Harry muttered. “I can’t even get him to let Hermione stay.”

Hermione frowned at him. “I’m sure he would if I really needed to,” she replied. Harry wasn’t sure he agreed, but he didn’t say anything. “But I’m happy enough where I am,” the girl continued.

Luna looked up from where she was drawing hearts in the sand. “I have an idea,” she said softly, and all eyes turned to her.

 

* * *

 

 _The Rookery_  
_Ottery St Catchpole_  
_Devon, England_  
_July 30, 1996_

 

Harry walked across the field and stood next to Luna, a slight smile on his face.

“This is a perfect spot,” he said softly, and Luna grinned at him.

“I think so,” she replied in her quiet sing-song. “And it’s a wonderful place for the DA to practice, too,” she added. Harry chuckled.

It was early, the sun just starting to peek over the horizon. As he watched, Hermione and Ron came out of the house, Ron gesturing as Hermione shook her head. The pair stopped on the stairs and Hermione stared out over the field stretched out before them, raising her wand and casting spells of towards the edges of the property. Harry watched as Ron muttered under his breath and started stalking over towards him.

Hermione and Ron would die for each other, Harry knew, but he wasn’t sure they would ever be able to civilly disagree. With a rueful smile, he nodded to Ron as his best friend stopped beside him, huffing with frustration.

A few feet up the path to the main road, Neville and Ginny were setting up a perimeter under the watchful eyes of Bill and Shacklebolt. The first Portkeys were due in less than five minutes, and they wanted to be ready.

“Why didn’t you tell us your dad had gone out of town?” Ron asked Luna suddenly, a slight frown on his face. “You’ve been here alone.”

Luna shrugged gracefully, spinning her radish earrings with one hand. “My father goes on expeditions all the time,” she explained. “I’m used to it.”

“Not anymore,” Bill corrected as he joined the teens, shooting Harry a wink. “Tonks owled your father. You’ll be staying with her and Hermione for the rest of the summer.”

Harry smiled. Now was not the time for one of their number to be staying alone. _Especially_ _Luna,_ he thought, watching the girl's eyes go unfocused again as she stared at a nearby tree. 

“I’m not sure what else we can do,” Hermione said finally from behind them as Tonks banged her way out of the house, tripping slightly on the front steps. “Did I miss anything?” she asked. Shacklebolt was already shaking his head, and Lupin tore his gaze away from Tonks to smile at the girl.

“I’ll add a couple more around the walkway once everyone is here,” Bill said lightly. “But overall, I’d say we’re pretty secure.”

Moody snorted. “We’re sitting ducks,” the ex-Auror growled, and Ginny and Neville glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. Harry bit back a grin.

From the edge of the trees, a sudden flash of light glinted, and Harry smiled sadly as he saw Hannah Abbott and Sue Bones emerge from the clearing, Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley right behind them. Hannah’s face was set in a blank mask, and she was looking around herself with a disinterested gaze. A few feet away, there was another flash, and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan appeared – the last of their Gryffindor year-mates.

Several minutes later, Harry and Ron stepped forward as their classmates gathered in a half-circle formation before them.

“Hi everybody,” Ron said cheerfully. “Welcome to the first session of D.A. Summer Bootcamp.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Ministry of Magic_  
_London, England_  
_July 30, 1996_

 

Cornelius stood from behind his opulent desk, gesturing wildly with his lime green bowler hat. “Rufus! Pius!” he exclaimed. “Come in, come in.” With a dismissive nod to Clearwater – _delightful girl,_ he thought absently, _such a shame_ – the door shut behind his secretary, and he ushered the two men into armchairs near the fireplace. As his guests sat, he joined them in his favorite chair, leaning back to take stock of their reactions.

Cornelius Fudge was a man who loved the finer things. From his marble-topped desk to his leather wing-back chairs and carved stone fireplace, every item in his office had been painstakingly chosen to create exactly the sort of image he craved. He learned a lot from how visitors reacted to this room. Rufus, as always, completely ignored the surroundings, not even a flicker of his eyelids to show the slightest interest.

Pius, on the other hand, looked around the room approvingly, his mouth quirking in a smile as his eyes lingered on the portrait of Fudge’s great-grandfather.

And Albus had insisted he should take the portrait _down_. Fudge scoffed to himself, shaking his head slightly, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Thank you both for meeting with me so quickly,” he said jovially. “Rufus, I understand Amelia was called away on urgent business?”

Though really, Cornelius wasn’t sure what could be more urgent than the Minister’s summons, and their current predicament. Rufus betrayed nothing.

“Correct, Minister,” the old lion said smoothly. “She has been unavailable for several days now. To my understanding, she will return tomorrow.”

“Not the time for a vacation,” Pius put in quietly, and Rufus’s eyes flickered to the thin man for a moment before turning back to Fudge. He looked at the Minister calmly, and Fudge hesitated a moment before clearing his throat.

“Yes, yes,” Fudge said officiously. “Well, Amelia is a very dedicated Head. I have no doubt she has good reasons. She is well?” he asked Rufus, suddenly a bit nervous. Pius was right – this really was not the time.

Rufus just inclined his head at the Minister’s question, and Fudge sighed.

“Well, to business, then,” Cornelius said heavily. “As you no doubt are aware, there have been many attacks in the past several days on the Muggle community. They have been almost exclusively Dementor attacks, but there was a bit of nastiness in Scotland with a werewolf or two. The Muggle Prime Minister has been demanding an audience, but to be frank, I’m not certain what to even tell him.”

Pius smiled, his long fingers steepled under his chin. “I have several ideas.”

Cornelius smiled genially on the outside, but on the inside, he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

  
_Herne Bay, Kent_  
_July 31, 1996_

 

Thomas smiled as the large Georgian clock chimed midnight. He stood on the shore, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness, and watched the small, sleepy town before him with absolute glee.

His servants stood arrayed around him, the lot of them nearly vibrating with anticipation. Behind him, he could hear the crash of the waves along the beach, and the soft, stifled tones of the creatures that moved in the water.

This spot was one where he should have stood almost fifteen years before – his planned next stop after taking care of the Potters. The runes were still under the sand, dormant all this time, the trap still lying in wait.

He only hoped that this night would prove worth the delay.

Crouching carefully, Thomas brushed his fingers gently over the gleaming black stone that lay at his feet. With a whisper, he pressed his wand to the etched rune and watched as the glyph glowed a violent red in the darkness. The Dark Lord rose gracefully to his feet, his robes billowing around him, and stepped back.

The rune glowed brighter and brighter, a sharp hum starting to cut through the darkness, and Thomas smiled. The sound rose in pitch then finally reached a crescendo, and as the air around them grew colder, a beam of red fire shot from the stone, stretching out into the night to collide with another small stone, which shot a beam at another, then another…

Not a moment later, Thomas stood at the center of a fiery pentagram suspended in the air. He allowed himself a satisfied smile as he heard his Death Eaters begin to murmur in awe around him. He hadn’t shown them such a display of power, of might, in quite some time.

Better, now, that they be reminded under _whose_ protection they wished to be.

He stood in the center of the flames, eyes closed, body still, then raised his arms to the sky, wand slashing in a violent arc. The flames shot down, scouring into the earth, digging trenches a hundred feet deep in the ground, all the way to the water’s edge and off into the town.

He heard the screams begin in the small town, saw lights turning on as Muggles fled their homes while the ground caved under their feet. His Death Eaters began to laugh and Thomas smiled again, stepping back with a nod.

And the ocean rushed by him, shooting through the new channels in defiance of gravity, merfolk and sirens streaming by with shouts of joy.

Thomas turned to Bellatrix, her rapturous eyes wide with wonder. “Go to Lucius,” he said sharply. “Tell him to commence phase two.”

The wild-eyed beauty nodded once, spinning on her heel and disappearing. Thomas stood quietly for a moment, watching as a nearby house went up in flames, as a small girl was pulled into the water by scaly green arms.

 _Happy birthday, Potter,_ he thought gleefully.

“Go!” he said suddenly, gesturing ahead of himself, and the dozen-odd Death Eaters arrayed on the beach hooted. “Enjoy yourselves!”

And lifting his wand to the sky, Voldemort whispered, “ _Morsmordre._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

 _London Bridge_  
_London, England_

 

Kingsley was hungry, he was cold, and he was tired.

He’d been staking out the bridge for over five hours, after having spent more than fourteen on shift. Snape had told them something was going to happen at the bridge, but he didn’t know what or where. Despite King’s misgivings, the Order had been standing guard in the spot – and no matter what he thought of Snape at the moment, no matter his private fears, he wasn’t so blasé about innocent lives that he would ignore a possible threat.

But between guarding and training Harry and his friends – and now helping train their entire army-club – the hunt for Podmore, the search for Lestrange, guarding their members’ families, and normal operations, the Order was starting to be spread a bit thin.

If this were a _genuine_ threat, there should have been more than just him and Charlie Weasley on the bridge.

Kingsley sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples as he leaned against the rail, his eyes sweeping the surroundings. Even at just after midnight, the bridge was fairly crowded with traffic, both autos and people on foot. Traffic was at a stand-still, hundreds of cars stopped end to end and honking angrily at each other as something held up the line. The driver of the car straight ahead of him seemed especially agitated, but looking in the backseat at the two wailing infants, Kingsley could see why.

The city never slept, but right now, he wished it would. And he was sure the Muggle father did, too.

Someone jogged by, stopping just a couple feet away and crouching to tie their shoelace. Shack eyed the wiry man for a moment, then turned when the man stood up and continued to jog away.

His mind wandered as he catalogued the faces around him, searching for someone familiar passing by. To himself, he could admit, if it turned out that Snape wasn’t on their side – well, that would be fine by him.

Something about the sinister man didn’t sit right with him. He knew, logically, he should be grateful to the man – his Potions, and most recently, his spellwork – had helped to keep Hermione alive thus far. And spying against a maniacal dark lord wasn’t anyone’s idea of _fun_ , and Merlin knew, the man’s information had helped save lives countless times.

But something just wasn’t right there.

His fascination with Hermione Granger, to Shack’s mind, bordered on obscene. There was something just _off_ in the man’s actions, in his voice, every time he was around the girl, spoke to her, of her… something was just off.

But when he mentioned it, to Dora or Remus, they both just gave him a strange look.

And Hermione, blast the girl, seemed to have decided she trusted him.

Kingsley didn’t like it.

 _No,_ he thought to himself, _if I find out that he isn’t – wait._

His eyes narrowed as a nearby jogger slowed to a stop, and Kingsley watched the man stop and place something small and rectangular on the ground. The man seemed to press a button then jog away, and as Kingsley watched, someone about fifteen feet down the bridge stopped and did the same.

He stood stock still, looking around himself as a dozen people all stepped back from the small objects they had placed, and continued off jogging like nothing had happened. There were at least fifty cars on the bridge still, and he could see children in some of them.

There was no way he could save them all if –

“Shack!” a voice shouted, and Kingsley heard a beeping sound begin near his feet. He looked down, his eyes landing on a small, rectangular clock that was counting down, _fast_.

He saw a flash of red hair as Charlie Weasley ran towards him, heard the beeping sound get louder and faster, and his eyes narrowed on the car in front of him. He raced forward, fishing a small metal disc out of his pocket, and slammed the disc down on top of the car, jumping back as the family in the car started to scream. A loud rumbling sound began to echo around them, and the bridge shook beneath his feet –

“Portus!” he shouted, wand pointed at the car, and the automobile vanished into thin air. He turned to face Charlie, his wand still raised –

And the ground fell out from under his feet.

 

* * *

 

Lucius Malfoy stood on the banks of the River Thames, a cruel smile twisting his lips. The river was a raging torrent as chunks of metal and stone landed in the water. Bodies flew through the air, some screaming, some silent. Around him, lights were flaring up in every building as the city awoke to find their landmark destroyed.

He felt a stirring inside him and chuckled quietly as another body hit the water with a splash. Not far away, a couple of limp forms had washed up on the banks, and Malfoy strode forward, his eyes fixed on the two figures.

Shacklebolt was a mess, he noted with glee, burns all over the man’s face and a huge gash running the length of his skull. Slivers of white bone were sticking out of his head and the man moaned piteously as the freezing river water lapped at his legs – likely several burns there as well, Lucius mused.

The redhead beside the Auror was a stocky, short man – the second Weasley son, he thought, Charles, wasn’t it? Angry burns were coming to life all over his face and arms as well, but the man’s robes seemed strangely intact. Lucius shrugged off the mystery, raising his wand as he stood over the two.

And Charlie Weasley opened his eyes, pushing to his feet.

Behind him, another section of bridge crumbled into the river.

 

* * *

 

A/N: Reviews are like coffee, they ENERGIZE! ~*~ALIBI

 

* * *

 


	5. Out of the Night

_Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

_July 31st, 1996_

 

It was just after midnight, and Petunia should have been asleep.

Pursing her lips in annoyance, she flung the covers away, wrinkling her nose as Vernon turned in his sleep and nuzzled into the warm spot she vacated. She loved her husband – it was only proper, after all – but she hated having her space infringed upon. Shaking her head at the man hugging her pillow, she padded quietly from the bedroom.

Opening the bathroom door carefully, she closed the door behind herself before turning on the light, then sat on the edge of the tub, dropping her head down into her hands.

She couldn't get those piercing green eyes out of her mind.

Shaking her head roughly, she scowled once more. She'd been dreaming of Lily's eyes for years, always the same, just looking at her with disappointment. One would think she would be used to it by now.

 _Why should the disapproval of a dead woman matter to me, anyhow_ , she thought spitefully.

She shook her head again, as though one more time would clear it, and stood to face the mirror.

Eyeing herself critically, her long neck, her sharp nose, her stringy light brown hair, she sighed. It was no wonder Vernon was cheating on her. She didn't keep up her looks, she allowed that freak to contaminate their family, and the house –

 _Well, the house, at least, is perfect_ , she thought to herself with no small amount of pride.

But her face was red, her eyes bleary, so she splashed cold water on her face, and left the bathroom with a sigh. Finally flicking on the hall light, she turned and stared at their attic door. She hadn't been up there in years, she mused, not since she had stuck all of her parents' things up there, all those years ago.

She took a step forward, her hand out – then backed away. Shaking her head, she spun on her heel and headed back to her bedroom.

Standing in the window, she looked down the darkened street. All the lights had gone out again, she reflected – surely with the neighborhood fees they paid, they should have working streetlights? A shadow moved on the street corner, illuminated by the moonlight, and she scoffed again.

 _Hooligans_ , she thought, and climbed back in bed.

Petunia Dursley fell into a fitful sleep, and never felt the flames.

 

* * *

 

_The Banks of the River Thames_

_London, England_

 

"Charlie? Charlie!"

Charlie groaned, barely stirring, and struggled to take a breath. Strange, he hadn't thought he'd been hit so hard in the enclosure the night before. He strained, trying to roll onto his side, but a white-hot pain flared up in his torso, and he froze.

Clearly, he'd had far too much to drink if he didn't even remember what he'd done the night before. And since when was Calliope so frantic? He'd told her already he wasn't in the mood.

"Charlie!" the witch shouted urgently, and Charlie flinched as she shook his shoulders roughly. Funny, that sounded a lot like –

Tonks.

"Is he breathing?" another voice asked nearby. _Lupin_ , Charlie's mind supplied, and he groaned again.

London. He was in London.

Images flashed through his mind in stark relief – _Harry. Bill. His father. Germany. Snape and some warning. Standing on the bridge with Kingsley. Seeing people drop things, hearing a countdown –_

_Kingsley standing right next to one of the things, staring at a car full of kids. Charlie running towards him, the burly Auror grabbing Charlie's arm and flinging him off the bridge just as the world exploded –_

"Yeah," Moody's voice growled, and he heard Lupin let out a sigh of relief before Tonks started shaking him again.

_A flash of blond hair, and an aristocratic, sneering face._

_Malfoy_. Charlie sat up sharply, groaning, and Tonks let out a horrified moan as she grabbed his right arm to hold him up. His face was numb, the whole left side, and he couldn't see.

"Dear lord," Remus whispered, "his skin is falling off."

"Charlie," Tonks said urgently, "Charlie, don't move. We're going to get you help."

Charlie let out a strangled sound, struggling to speak, and he felt Tonks and the others move closer.

"What is it?" Lupin asked in a low tone, and Charlie whimpered as he tried to make his mouth open – but he couldn't.

Malfoy. What had Malfoy – he couldn't remember –

More images were flashing through his mind, and he let out a ragged sound as he struggled to stay awake.

_Moody was turning towards him, saying in a quiet rumble, "You have a strong mind, kid, you sure you want to play with dragons?"_

_Shack was muttering to himself, "Something doesn't feel right here."_

_Harry was sitting on his brother's couch, eyes shadowed and face drawn –_

_Ginny's pale face as she cried in his arms, a tiny little pipsqueak of an eleven year old –_

_Tonks was straining against his grip, struggling to get by him so she could burst out the door, angry tears streaming down her face as she slapped at his arms –_

_Hermione's dull expression as Snape dispassionately explained that her parents no longer remembered her, Tonks squeezing her shoulder and Shack holding her hand as Bill and Charlie stared –_

Their faces all appeared in a circle in his mind's eye, then started to spin, and Charlie struggled not to heave as his whole world spun with them.

" – are the mediwitches?"

"I don't think he has that long – "

_The spinning stopped, and the faces disappeared, and Charlie was standing in the orchard by the Burrow. The sun was setting behind the trees, and a thick fog was rolling in, coming closer and closer – Charlie felt a terrible dread building –_

_"Never trust anything," a voice whispered, and he turned to see his father standing by the tallest tree. Kind-faced Arthur Weasley, the man who had taught him to fly a broomstick, to ride a bike, to fish and skip rocks. His father's face was blank, his eyes lifeless, and there was nothing of the genial, patient man he knew._

_Charlie stared._

_"The sun is setting, Charlie," his father's voice, cold and empty, echoed across the orchard. "Never trust anything that – "_

_The sound of crunching leaves sounded, and Charlie turned to see Lucius Malfoy coming through the clearing. The man's face was twisted in a hateful sneer, and Charlie shouted as he raised his wand and pointed it at Arthur. Malfoy's mouth was opening, he was shouting a spell, but Charlie couldn't hear it –_

_"Wake up, Charlie!" His father shouted, the warmth returning to his voice, and the orchard flickered around him – a graveyard, then a desert, then a temple, then the orchard again – "You have to wake up!" A jet of light raced towards Arthur Weasley from Malfoy's wand, and the scene vanished._

Charlie gasped, jerking upright again, and finally managed to force open one eye. Beside him, Tonks' face was pale and drawn, and she was still shaking his shoulders, still shouting, "Wake up!"

Charlie raised his arm with Herculean effort, wrapping his hand around Tonks' bicep, and he pulled. The metamorphmagus jumped, her eyes darting immediately to Charlie's one open eye, and he panted heavily, gasping again.

"Don't," he managed, wheezing, "don't bring me – don't remember – "

He saw Moody go still, and then everything went black again.

 _Wake_   _up_ ,  _Charlie_ , his father's voice echoed in his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

_The Banks of the River Thames_

_London, England_

 

Tonks stared as her best friend collapsed under the weight of Moody's stunner. She spun around, glaring at her mentor, and the grizzled old man met her gaze steadily.

"Better off this way," he grunted, and he stepped back as Pomfrey appeared, her hair in a tangle and one slipper missing. The mediwitch took one look at the mangled pair on the banks and cursed wildly, dropping to her knees gracelessly between them.

"Remus," the matron barked, "take Kingsley." The graying man stepped forward immediately, raising his wand and levitating Shack a few inches off the ground, and Pomfrey tossed a small statue to him. He caught the statue in one hand and the pair vanished, Pomfrey right behind him with Charlie.

Tonks shot to her feet, about to apparate after them, but Moody grabbed her arm. "You can't help them, girl," he said in his low growl. "Look up!" Jerking his head to their right, he gestured with his other hand at the mangled sections of bridge, the bodies floating or scrambling in the water, and Tonks swallowed back bile. Letting out a shaky breath, she nodded resolutely and took a step forward –

– Vance's swan Patronus slammed into her.

 _Privet_   _Drive_ , the woman's cool tones echoed, with a frantic edge that Tonks had never heard from her. _Fiendfyre_.  _Bring_   _ **everyone**_.

Moody snarled, and Tonks felt her blood run cold. Her mentor met her eyes, and they turned and vanished in unison.

 

* * *

 

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

 

"We're rallying at number 4 and spreading out to battle the flames," Arthur said quickly, kneeling before the fireplace. "It's all hands on deck, Bill, we're even bringing Ginny and Ron to help."

"Not Harry," Bill said immediately. "I don't want him anywhere near there – he's too valuable a target."

"Agreed," his father replied, "but we can't spare you."

"Hermione," Bill said, "I'll get her and she can stay with Harry here. She shouldn't be there either, considering – " Bill stopped speaking, his eyes narrowing. "You're bringing Ginny?" he said sharply.

Arthur nodded curtly. "She'll stay with me the whole time. Ron will be with Moody."

A flicker of distaste shot through Bill's eyes, and Arthur bit back a sad sigh. He and his eldest, it seemed, still had a problem.

Bill vanished from the fire without another word, and Arthur stood up quickly, spinning on his heel to see Ron standing behind him, dressed in thick leather boots, heavy duty jeans and a long-sleeved close fitting shirt. His youngest son had a solemn, set look on his face, and Arthur nodded approvingly. Lupin and George walked through the door, Neville and Luna in tow, and Arthur looked around with a frown.

"Where is your sister?"

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny Weasley was a very angry young woman.

None of her friends or classmates saw it, really – except Luna, but Luna was…. Well, _Luna_. If anyone asked, she would be described as vivacious, fun, and bright, but none would have ever described her as she was.

Dark. Vengeful. Angry. Tainted.

But then, Ginny was pretty sure no one could ever be possessed by Voldemort and come out on the other side pristine. A gifted actor, certainly. But not innocent. Not ever again.

She scowled as the target she was blasting stayed upright, forcing a bit more power through her wand and smiling in satisfaction as shards of wood flew across the orchard. The spell wasn't one Hermione would approve of, she was certain. And most definitely not her mother.

But as far as Ginny was concerned, needs must.

Tom's voice echoed in her mind, and she closed her eyes. _If you want to destroy something, you need to understand it_ , the dark lord whispered, and she shook her head to clear him away.

It had been four years, and the memories hadn't faded a bit.

She really, _really_ wanted to hit something.

Letting out a shaky breath, Ginny opened her eyes and raised her wand again. Michael's face flashed before her eyes as she took aim. She scowled, fighting back the tears prickling at her eyes –

Suddenly, her communication charm seared at her neck, and Ginny reached down and wrapped a hand around the pendant.

 _Get_   _back_   _to_   _the_ _house_ , Ron's voice sounded.  _Situation_.  _We're_   _heading_   _out._

Ginny turned on her heel and made her way swiftly out of the clearing, not bothering to respond. She tucked the pendant back under her shirt as she went, smiling grimly as she thought of all the work and frustration that had gone into creating the things with Hermione. It had taken ages to create something separate from the D.A. Coins, but it had paid off.

She strode into the house, taking in the presence of Lupin, George, Neville and Luna without question. "What and where?" she asked simply, turning to Ron, and her brother scowled.

" _Fiendfyre_. Privet Drive," her father responded instead, and Ginny felt a surge of rage again, spinning on her heel to face her father. "You stay with me at all times, Ginny, do you hear me?"

Defiance was in her nature, especially these days, but Ginny swallowed back an angry retort. "Yes," she said simply.

 

* * *

 

 

Not two minutes later, she was landing in hell.

She stood in the center of a suburban street, not unlike Hermione's neighborhood. The air was sweltering, and she felt her skin begin to burn and gasped for air and –

A bubble suddenly appeared over her head, and she shot her father a grateful look as she gulped in clean air. Eyes narrowed, she gazed around the street.

 _Or it **was** a street at one point_, she thought. Charred remains of house littered the sides of the road, yards scorched and dragons and serpents made of flame still soaring through the sky. As she watched, the tail of one serpent hit a tree that had been untouched – the flames raced through the branches and down to the ground, off to the next target and just kept….

Ginny swallowed. This was a nightmare.

"Come on," her father said tersely as Ron shot off to join Moody down the street.

She swallowed again, her rage shaken out of her as she stepped over – she looked down and bit back a sob as she saw the struggling dog. " _Stupefy_ ," she whispered, pointing her wand down at the whining creature, and the poor little terrier stopped crying and stilled. Forcing back tears, she steeled herself and set off after her father.

House after house was burning, skeletal framework still ablaze long after the flames should have died down. Ginny and her father shot revealing spells at every house they passed, looking for survivors. Ahead of them a ways, she could see Bill standing with Dumbledore and some man she didn't recognize, hands raised and drawing runes in the air as he chanted urgently. They passed five houses with no one left alive, then her father shook his head roughly, putting on a burst of speed. Ginny ran to catch up –

But her father suddenly caught her around the waist, and she gasped as they vanished, landing roughly a few streets over. The  _Fiendfyre_  was raging there as well, the flames licking at houses and creeping further and further down the street.

"No one survived," her father said tersely, and Ginny swallowed down bile again. "Might as well try to stop the spread before it takes the whole county."

Ginny nodded. She stepped forward, keeping her breathing even, and gathered her magic as she stared down the towering flames. Behind her, she heard McGonagall cursing in a thick, angry brogue, and felt Neville, Luna, Lupin and Tonks appear. They battled on, and at some point, Bill, Dumbledore, and some others arrived around her, but Ginny couldn't look away, couldn't spare a bit of concentration as she struggled to stamp the flames out.

Her hands were shaking and her lungs were on fire when Ginny finally lowered her wand. Her father stood right at her shoulder, watching her carefully, and everyone around them looked exhausted, even Dumbledore. Down the street a ways, closer to the park, she could hear Aurors shouting as they tried to rein in the last part of the inferno. To her left, she finally noticed, was Viktor Krum, and the Bulgarian had a hand wrapped around her left arm, halfway holding her up. She glanced at his hand, then gave him a tight-lipped smile and carefully pulled free.

The older boy just looked at her, eyes shadowed, then nodded curtly and stepped back.

"Ginny, Ron, Luna, Neville," Dumbledore said in a steady voice, "head back to headquarters, we shall – "

A green, flaming skull erupted suddenly from the burned house before them, and everyone jumped as the skull shot towards them.

Ginny just stared at it, eyes narrowed and face set, as she balled her shaking hands into fists in her robes. The skull opened its mouth.

" _You are still mine, little one_ ," Tom Riddle's voice hissed at her, and her father grabbed her shoulder as both of her brothers growled slightly under their breath. Ginny looked steadily at the skull, refusing to blink, refusing to cry – " _You will always be mine_."

A roar sounded on the street, and the house crumbled as the skull raced towards her…. And everything went black.

 

* * *

 

 

Ron hadn't stopped swearing since his father had taken his unconscious sister to Hogwarts.

He stalked down the street just behind Tonks with Viktor Krum at his side, Neville and Lupin a few steps behind with Moody bringing up the rear. The others had all gone to help with cleanup and the Obliviator Squad at the London Bridge, or in Kent at the beach, so their small crew was what remained to fix up Little Whinging and Magnolia Crescent.

Ron wasn't really sure what there really was to fix anymore.

They had swept every street, checked every house on their way back to the starting point of Number 4, Privet Drive. In only one house had there been a survivor, a withered old woman who was charred from head to toe, and her breath had stilled before Tonks even had a chance to so much as kneel beside her.

Ron dreamed horrors every night, and he'd never seen anything like this.

It was a terrible but small mercy that in some of the houses, the fire had burned so long before they had been able to stop it, that the bodies were obliterated. He could almost convince himself that the forms in stark relief on the walls and floors were make-believe when there wasn't a body.

Krum was muttering something under his breath beside him, and Ron shot the other wizard a questioning look. Krum subsided, his mouth twisting in a grimace, but he didn't explain.

It was after the twenty-seventh destroyed house that Ron had felt himself go numb, and he welcomed the sensation. Which was probably why, when they stopped in front of Number 4, when they stood looking at the inexplicably untouched front garden, he didn't say a word.

Instead, he stepped forward, his eyes narrowed as Lupin and Tonks swore roughly, and stared at the letters blazing in the grass.

_Happy Birthday, Harry_

"Vere is no hell vile enough for vese creatures," Krum spat, and Ron raised his wand and blasted a small crater into the yard.

He turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the yells of the others behind him, and as Neville hastened after him, the pair grabbed their emergency Portkeys and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

 

Sleeping in the empty school felt strange. But after Ron had looked in on Ginny, fast asleep in the hospital wing with Luna tucked in beside her, and hovered at Charlie's bedside, he hadn't known what to do.  Watching them _hurt_. So he slipped off to Gryffindor tower and threw himself into his favorite chair by the fire, his eyes blank and sightless.

It was just gone 4 am. He was exhausted beyond measure, but he didn't want to sleep. With a muttered swear, he rubbed his hands roughly across his eyes and leaned over, elbows on his knees and head in his hands as his mind raced.

Bill had left an hour before and gone back to the cottage, refusing to bring Harry and Hermione to the castle. His eldest brother was terrified, Ron knew, of what kind of impact it would have on Harry to see the injured, to hear the full accounts – what had been done by a twisted creature in the name of wishing him a happy birthday. Instead, Bill had admitted to Ron quietly, he planned to tell Harry the shorter version in the morning. He knew he couldn't keep the truth from the teen, nor did he want to – not that he would be  _able_  to, Ron scoffed. Bill was figuring Harry out pretty quickly, but he didn't yet understand how determined Ron's best friend could be.

Besides, if Voldemort had been happy enough, if Harry's Occlumency had slipped – maybe he saw the whole thing.

Ron's head started to pound and he sighed raggedly, pressing his fingers into his temples. He'd had his last Occlumency session with Snape just yesterday – the day before, rather, now – and usually he was in a better state a day or two after. But now?

His mind felt like a raw wound that was being coated in coarse salt.

Maybe he had better try to get some sleep after all. Maybe –

He stumbled off to the dorms, the edges of his vision going gray.

 _Yeah,_  he thought sardonically,  _three days is apparently the limit._

 

* * *

 

" _Scream all you want," he said with a twisted grin, blood dripping from the split in his lip. The blonde-haired woman stared at him with wide eyes, chest heaving as she struggled for breath. "You have a beautiful voice," he continued conversationally, "I could listen to it all night."_

_With a steady hand, he reached out and traced his wand across her stomach, shallow cuts appearing under his wand's tip, and the woman cried out in pain._

" _Ah, Dori," he breathed, leaning towards the woman –_

Ron's head slammed off the edge of his nightstand as he started awake, and he cursed under his breath as stars formed in front of his eyes. With a low growl, he forced himself up off the floor and sat on the edge of his bed, feeling gingerly at the back of his head.

No blood, nothing damaged, but he was going to have one heck of a lump later on, he thought distractedly.

A woman's face flashed before his eyes, tears streaming down her face, and he flinched. He fumbled for his wand on the nightstand, letting out a sad sigh as he saw the time.

 _6:17_ , he thought.  _So much for that_.

Getting to his feet, he quickly changed out of his pajamas and pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a simple long-sleeved shirt, and made his way for the stairs. Still muttering to himself, he crossed the common room to collapse on the large, squashy armchair that had become "his" partway through third year – as in literally, no one else sat there anymore – and pulled his abandoned charms book toward him. As much as he had always hated studying, truth was, he had realized finally that they would have to start taking things more seriously.

After all, how long could they keep surviving on  _luck_? He shook his head and began to read, still muttering darkly now and then.

"Ron?" a soft voice said questioningly, and the youngest Weasley son shot to his feet, wand pointed at the –

– puzzled face of Luna Lovegood, he realized. He shoved his hand into his hair and lowered his wand with another tired sigh, practically throwing himself back into his chair. "Sorry," he mumbled, the tips of his ears reddening as he turned back to his book.

Luna hesitated at the foot of the stairs, watching him for a few moments before crossing the room to perch on the chair to his right. He ignored her a moment of two, hoping she'd just go away and leave him in peace, but finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he raised his eyes to hers and simply looked at her. The younger girl bit her lip and met his gaze.

Still she hesitated, her hands twisting together in her lap, before she seemed to come to a decision. The usually airy girl seemed almost unnaturally focused as she studied his face. Shifting forward slightly in the chair, she bit her lip before asking, "Ron, are – are you alright?"

The redheaded wizard watched her silently for a time, considering. He didn't really want to answer her – but at the same time, in that moment, she reminded him of someone. He wasn't sure who –

She bit her lip again, and it came to him in a flash.

_Big brown eyes welling with tears, mouth bloodied from shoving her own teeth through her lip to keep from screaming, hands chained to the bedposts as he grinned down at her._

Ron jerked back in horror as Marlene McKinnon's screams sounded in his mind, and he shot to his feet.

"I – I have to go," he choked out, and he turned on his heel, running for the portrait. He heard Luna calling after him, heard the Fat Lady's surprised exclamation, and still he ran, not stopping until he hit the lake's edge.

Ron collapsed beside the choppy waters, his breath coming out in sharp, painful gasps as his eyes prickled. He huddled there, arms wrapped around his waist, and leaned all the way over until his forehead rested against the sand. Shivering in the chill morning air, he wept bitterly as nightmare after nightmare flashed through his mind.

After a time, his tears slowed to a halt, and he finally moved, his legs stiff and his back sore from being hunched over. He crab-walked to the huge tree by the shore, leaning his back against the trunk.

Eyes shadowed, he stared off into the distance.

 

* * *

 

_Herne Bay_

_Kent, England_

 

Bill was fairly confident this had been the most horrific day of his entire life.

And if one truly understood his day job, that was  _saying_ something.

He stood silently on the shore between McGonagall and Brand, his face expressionless as he stared ahead at the carnage of what was once a bustling seaside community. By the looks of it, this town had fared the same as Little Whinging – none had been spared.

Except at least in Little Whinging, awful though it was, the people mostly died quickly. The little girl five feet ahead had  _not_.

Muggle Emergency Response were rushing around them, gathering up bodies and marking off houses, looking for clues to explain the tragedy. As Bill watched, one paramedic knelt to the ground wretching beside another child, this one with its intestines torn out. A few feet away, a clearly dead merman floated in the water. A small group of policemen were gathered around the creature, gawking.

The Obliviator Squad hadn't made it out here yet, and from the state of London, he wasn't sure they ever  _would_. Not only was this town destroyed, but the statute was irreparably damaged.

He exchanged a quick look with McGonagall, and the Transfiguration Master nodded. They would take care of all they could when they came back. But they had a mission to attend to, first.

To his right, Brand stood with a scowl, studying the rune-etched stones. Bill had already glanced over and catalogued each one in his mind – he had a fantastic memory, and though he didn't know their meanings off-hand, he would recognize them when he saw them. But the other man was muttering something under his breath, and he looked shaken. Bill watched him distrustfully.

He didn't want the man here, but his father had insisted to Dumbledore that he could help. How he'd gotten Brand  _himself_  to cooperate was anybody's guess. The spellcrafter certainly wasn't a team-player.

But, Bill supposed, by nature, he wasn't either.

The spellcrafter was kneeling in the sand now, brushing a hand over one of the runes, and Bill moved forward quickly. The man stood before Bill reached him, and he eased back, watching.

"These are  _old_ ," he said quietly, his voice missing the usual sarcasm. "I haven't even seen them mentioned in a book newer than fifty years back."

"Grindelwald era?" McGonagall asked sharply, and Brand shot her a derisive look.

"Older," he said simply. "You're looking at something hundreds of years old, there's no way he should have had access to this information."

"So how did he get it?" Bill asked, "and more importantly, how did you?"

Brand snorted. "I helped translate it after some of your ilk helped find it," he replied with a smirk. "In case you've forgotten, boy, I'm something of a big deal."

McGonagall stared at him blankly, her trademark expression causing even Brand to look away and settle down.

"Right," the eccentric man sad, clearing his throat, and inwardly, Bill cheered for his old Head of House. "So we need to get back, so I can find out who talked to him."

Something was prickling at the edge of Bill's subconscious, and he stood stock-still as McGonagall looked around. "I suppose we've gotten what we came here for," the Scotswoman sighed, "Bill, I'm going to head back and coordinate with Dumbledore for the Obliviators. Will you be all right here?" she asked him worriedly, peering at her ex-student over her glasses.

Bill smiled at her reassuringly. "We can finish up," he replied, "I just want to check out a couple more things."

Brand was straightening up behind him – he'd been kneeling over one of the stones again, and out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw the man slip something red and glowing into his pocket. McGonagall eyed Bill a moment then nodded, Disapparating silently, and Bill turned to Brand.

"I want to see if we can uncover the warding he used," the cursebreaker said calmly. "It may give me a clue as to what to combat next time. Are you up for it?"

The other man hesitated, but nodded, his dark features shadowed. Brand shoved his wand absently in his pocket as he turned to study the runes once more, and Bill raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Brand chuckled, grinning at him. "All the latent magic is long gone, no matter  _what_ you think we're going to find. We're surrounded by Muggles here, who's going to curse me?"

Brand turned to face him, grinning. "Besides, nobody can best me anyway."

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

Harry felt rather numb.

Bill had returned about an hour before, Brand gone but Tonks in tow. Harry hadn't been awake when Bill had stopped by to check on him early that morning – he suspected the man had potioned him to sleep – so this was the first he was hearing about all of the horrific events that had happened since midnight.

It was just gone eleven a.m., and this was already the worst day Harry could remember.

Tonks had left to give them some privacy, leaving Hermione with Harry at her request, and so Bill had told them alone. The eldest Weasley son sat across from them in an armchair, elbows on his knees, and leaned forward, speaking with them quietly. Telling them about London Bridge. And Herne Bay.

And Little Whinging.

Hermione had gone pale, but she had managed to stay steady through the whole story, her eyes glued to her best friend for his reaction. Harry was silent, motionless, but inside…

Hundreds.  _Thousands_. Dead. Because of  _him_.

He kept that thought to himself, knowing how the others would react if he voiced it, but he knew. Deep down, he knew.

Bill didn't mention any message, but he was sure there was one. A "this is for you, Potter," somewhere, somehow.

Thousands had died, for no reason other than that, sixteen years ago, he was born.

Harry swallowed, dropping his head into his hands, and Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against the back of his neck and letting out a shaky breath. The two sat there silently for a long stretch as they tried to regain their composure, as Bill waited patiently.

"There's something else," Bill said lowly. Harry raised his head and looked at his de facto guardian, his eyes shuttered, and he felt Hermione tense beside him. Without looking away from Bill, Harry reached out and squeezed Hermione's hand.

"Charlie is going to be recover," Bill said softly. "It's going to take time, but physically, he'll be fine. But he lost some time. He doesn't remember anything after we got back from Germany."

The cursebreaker stopped talking, swallowing and closing his eyes, before he opened them and confused talking.

"Kingsley," he said haltingly. "It's bad. Pomfrey and Pye aren't sure – "

At that, Hermione let out a strangled sound and jumped up, running for the fireplace. Without another word, as Harry and Bill stared at her in surprise, she threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire and yelled "Hogwarts Infirmary!"

She vanished before they could speak.

Harry stared after her. He had already had a feeling Hermione was far closer to the Auror than she had let on. Apparently, he'd been right.

Bill cleared his throat nervously, and Harry turned back to look at him.

"Did anybody make it?" he asked brokenly, and Bill shook his head.

"We managed to stop the Fiendfyre before it got out of Magnolia Crescent," the older man said quietly. "But Herne Bay was an outright massacre, and as far as we can tell, Charlie and Shack were the only survivors from the bridge."

"I – " Harry began, his voice cracking as he swallowed convulsively. "I have to – bloody hell," he gasped, and the teen turned and ran out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Bill rocked back in the chair and sighed. "I'm not even twenty-six," he muttered to himself. "How am I supposed to know how to do this?"

Then he closed his eyes, pushed up out of the chair, and followed Harry.

He found the teen thirty minutes later, sitting on an outcropping of rock down the shore at the very edge of the wards. Harry didn't look around when Bill joined him, so the eldest Weasley son took that as an invitation. He sat down beside the teen silently, looking out over the crashing waves.

The silence stretched on nearly ten minutes, then Harry finally spoke.

"Where will I go?"

Inwardly, Bill smiled sadly. "Here," he replied calmly.

"No, I mean…" Harry's voice trailed off, and the teen sniffled. "I'm an orphan again. I – "

"They weren't your family," Bill replied gently. "You don't have to mourn them, Harry. You don't owe them anything."

Harry scoffed quietly, then shook his head. "God, how horrible am I, that that was my first thought?"

"But it wasn't," Bill said simply, and Harry flinched.

"No," the teen agreed. "It wasn't."

"I know you think you have to save everyone, Harry, and I know why," Bill said urgently, and the teenager stiffened as he looked even more determinedly towards the sea. "But nobody can save the entire world. And it isn't all on just you." Harry's wiry frame shook, and Bill reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and finally, Harry let himself break down and cry.

The cursebreaker sat on the rock silently, watching the shore and listening as Harry struggled, and finally, the boy's gasps slowed. He seemed to relax, and Bill let out a small sigh of relief – silently waiting, it seemed, had been the right thing.

"I was serious, though," he said after a moment, and Harry finally turned to look at him, red-rimmed eyes confused.

"You can stay  _here,"_ he explained. "You'll go back to school when it's time, and come here for Christmas break. We'll hide out at the beach and go to Mum's on Christmas Eve, where she'll stuff you with extra pudding and claim I don't feed you enough. Then we'll come back here and hide at the beach some more. Then you'll go back to school – "

Harry interrupted him, his eyes flashing. "The Ministry isn't going to let me just  _stay_  here," he said angrily, and Bill shrugged.

"They will once Dumbledore's done with them, and I become your legal guardian."

Harry stared.

"If you want, I mean," the cursebreaker said calmly, reaching up to fiddle with his dragontooth earring as Harry continued to stare. "Obviously, if you'd prefer to live with someone else, I won't stand in your way, but I think you'd be best served here."

"You mean that?" the black-haired wizard asked, his eyes suspiciously bright, and Bill shrugged.

"I think we understand each other," he replied, pretending to misunderstand, "but yeah, if you wanted to go somewhere else – "

"No, I – I mean, yes, I mean – " Harry stuttered, and Bill waited patiently. As he watched the waves, Harry drew a deep breath, then finally offered, "I like living by the sea."

Bill smiled. They sat there in silence a while longer, listening to the crashing of the surf, before Harry spoke again. "Bill?" the teen asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

Harry paused, then slowly, he asked, "Erm… does Dumbledore  _know_  that he's going to make the Ministry make you my legal guardian?"

Bill laughed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "No," he replied, still chuckling, "no, he does not, but he will soon enough."

Harry shook his head, a wry grin on his face, and hugged his knees to his chest, staring back out at the waves.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Great_   _Hall_

_Hogwarts_

 

Hermione practically flew out of the fireplace in the Great Hall, bolting for the grand staircase and taking the steps two at a time. Her heart was racing and her lungs burned as she pushed herself as fast as she could move, but she couldn't –

She stepped off at the first landing and collided with someone, squeaking as she stumbled backwards and almost fell. Long fingers gripped her arms and jerked her upright, and Hermione was pulled off balance and stumbled again, practically falling onto her rescuer.

She looked up to see Snape glaring down at her, his customary scowl a little less harsh than his normal. "Miss Granger," he sneered.

Hermione swallowed, suddenly nervous, though she had no idea why. Really, she had been dealing with the dour man on a regular basis now, and he didn't intimidate her at all anymore. So why…? "Professor Snape," she said evenly, her tone hiding her confusion. "Sorry, sir, and thank you for catching me." She shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease back, and the man seemed to realize he was still practically holding her against him. He abruptly released her arms, and Hermione stumbled back a bit again, her equilibrium thrown.

This time, he let her right herself, watching with a scowl as Hermione leaned on the railing a second.

"What are you doing here, and  _why_  are you running like the hounds of hell are on your tail?" the Potions Master snapped, and Hermione shook her head, still trying to catch her breath.

"Visiting," she said shakily, "I was coming to see Kingsley."

Snape's eyes darkened. "And just why–"

"Hermione!" a friendly voice called, and Hermione looked up to see Tonks peering down worriedly from up the stairs. Snape seemed to stiffen, and Hermione glanced curiously at the professor before turning to face Tonks. "Are you all right?"

"She's fine," Snape snarled, and Hermione shot him a glare. Tonks ignored them both, vaulting over the staircase and landing in a crouch right between them, her back to Hermione.

The normally clumsy Auror didn't stumble one bit, rising to her feet gracefully and meeting Snape's bemused gaze.

"Did you want to see Shack, Hermione?" Tonks asked calmly, still looking at Snape.

Hermione looked back and forth between the pair, her brow furrowed. "Yes," she said finally, when neither of them spoke.

Snape stared at her steadily for a moment, then turned back to Tonks. "I'd be careful if I were you,  _Nymphadora_ ," the Potions Master sneered, "Shacklebolt's affection for the girl seems… improper."

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide, and Tonks' back stiffened in front of her. As she stood there, trying to figure out what on  _Earth_  was going on, Tonks stepped back to stand right beside her.

"I tell you what,  _Sevvy_ ," Tonks responded, and Hermione choked, "why don't you let  _me_ worry about my new little sister, and  _you_  worry about inventing yourself a shampoo that actually works. Mkay, punkin?"

And with that, Tonks wrapped her arm around Hermione's shoulders and steered the girl up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

_August 1st, 1996_

 

Arthur Weasley sat quietly in the darkness of the orchard, his back leaned against his favorite tree. He reached back and pressed his hand to the knot in the bark, letting out a tired sigh as he felt the spell react.

Still untouched.

He opened his eyes and looked around, taking in the slight scuff marks, the stray scorched sections in the trees and grass. This was where Ginny was holding her clandestine spell sessions, he knew, and where she and Ron sneaked off to plan and to practice, with the others from their little group in tow as much as they could manage.

It was only fitting, he reflected with a rueful smile. This little orchard had seen many secrets of the Weasley family over the years. It was where Bill and Charlie had secretly learned to fly, then Ginny; where Fred and George had first started their experiments… and it was where Arthur had performed his exercises and training for several decades now. In the same spot where his brothers once did. Even Percy had snuck off to the orchard as a small child, although his middle son had been more apt to be sneaking books far beyond his age level.

It was only fitting that all of his children hid their secrets here. They were so much like their father, after all.

And yet… so much not.

He had hidden so much from them over the years, so much held back out of necessity. It pained him, because some of his deception was the reason Percy scorned their family so – although, really, what did that say about his middle child? He shook his head to clear it, to banish the thought of Percy, and closed his eyes again.

He had hidden so much from them, but somehow, he felt like Bill had always known there was something beneath the surface, had always watched too closely, noticed too much, asked too many questions.

Bill knew him, no matter what he had tried to do to prevent him from seeing.

Which was why Arthur was not at all surprised when he felt Bill's magical signature, when he opened his eyes to see his eldest son standing in the entrance to the orchard.

Too observant by half, his eldest was. And so Arthur pushed to his feet and faced him, faced the coming confrontation.

Bill's face was blank, a calm, steady mask, and for a fleeting, hysterical second, Arthur wondered if Brand was right, if Bill was angry enough to kill him. He shook his head immediately – his son was far better a man than that. But still… _nothing about this is going to be fun_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

So Arthur did what he always did when faced with an impossible situation – he made the first move.

"You waited longer than I thought you would," he said quietly.

Bill didn't blink. "It was Harry's birthday," he replied. "Awful though the start of it was, I wanted him to have at least a  _little_ fun. I had to  _be there_  for that."

Arthur was silent.

"But now," Bill continued, "it's August. We survived July, and Harry is asleep, and Tonks is there. So here I am. And we need to talk."

"I'm not sure now is the time," Arthur said softly, and his eldest son's eyes nearly sparked.

"Oh, now is the  _perfect_  time," Bill practically spat, and Arthur drew back in spite of himself. "As a matter of fact, I don't think there could ever be a  _better_  time."

But suddenly, Arthur couldn't do it. The coldness, the distance from his eldest son, he could handle. But the idea of losing his respect…

"I am not having this conversation right now, Bill," he said sternly, his voice raising slightly. "It's been an awful day, an awful week, an awful month, and we're both tired. Go home."

"No," Bill said calmly, and Arthur stared at his son. "We need to do this now. I have to know."

Arthur sighed. Leaning back against the tree again, he tilted his head and looked up at the sky. "You've only had Harry in your care for a few weeks, I know," he murmured. "But already, I think, you understand. What  _wouldn't_  you do, to protect your child?"

But Bill was staring at him. An odd look crossed his son's face, then Bill scoffed and almost smirked, shaking his head. "You don't get it," he said quietly, almost to himself, "you really don't get it."

And Arthur was starting to think that Bill was right.

"Leaving aside the fact that I don't believe you can protect anyone from the truth," his eldest continued, "you misunderstand. I  _get_  operational security, Dad. I can't tell all the details of my job. I don't like that you lied to us, rather, I  _hate_  it, but I still understand."

Arthur's confusion was building, alongside his alarm. If Bill wasn't angry at him over that, then why – ?

"I will say, now that we are fighting the same war, in the same group, on the same side, and I know there's a secret, I would appreciate you sharing," Bill added, "but if you can't, you can't. No.  _That_  is not the issue here."

Arthur didn't say a word, and an angry gleam sparked in Bill's eyes. "Care to take a guess?" his eldest asked almost spitefully, and Bill scoffed at him. "You said eight words, not too long ago, that  _shattered_  my opinion of you."

Arthur was finding it hard to breathe. The orchard seemed to get even darker, the stars muted, and the air around him chilled. He could feel a strange heaviness, a static in the atmosphere, the likes he hadn't felt since his last job. "Bill," he said haltingly, "What – ?"

Bill just looked him in the eye. "Surely. You. Realize. I. Would. Never. Hurt. Harry."

Arthur's blood ran cold.

"But you  _did_ ," Bill snarled, and Arthur's patience finally snapped.

"I have  _never_  hurt a child!" he practically roared, his face flushing red and his heart pounding. Bill didn't even flinch, didn't back down, just stared his father down.

"No, you just  _left him there_ ," his eldest replied calmly. "You stood back and  _let it happen._ "

Arthur fell silent again, breathing hard as he stared at his son.

"Did you know?" Bill asked, and Arthur flinched. "Did you know they were hurting him? Because I've got to say, Dad, now that I think about it, when we found Dursley covered in Harry's blood, you didn't seem too surprised."

The clearing was deathly silent as Arthur stood there, stunned.

Bill continued, his tone alarmingly nonchalant. "I wondered why Harry's friends, why my  _brother_   _and_   _sister_  never told me something was wrong at his home. At first I thought it was because I didn't live anywhere near here anyway, so what good could I have done him? Then I thought it was Harry who didn't want to tell, and they were just respecting his privacy. But I had to ask, and then Fred and George told me that they pulled him out of a room where he was locked in, bars on the windows and a tin can on the floor for food."

Bill stepped forward as his father remained silent. "And they told me that they  _told_  you, and they told Mum."

Arthur didn't move.

"So of course, having already realized that their own parents didn't seem to think there was any need to do something, they thought there was nothing they  _could_  do."

"What would you have me say?" Arthur asked hollowly, and his eldest son met his eyes.

"Did you know they hurt him?"

"No," Arthur replied hoarsely, his head still pounding as he struggled to look his son in the eye without blinking.

"But you knew they were neglectful, at the very least," Bill said calmly.

This time, Arthur managed not to flinch. "Yes."

The stoic look on his son's face nearly shattered him, and Arthur steeled himself. "Why," Bill asked flatly, and Arthur shook his head.

He leaned more heavily against the tree trunk, rubbing his hand over his eyes tiredly. Now that Bill so masterfully held the upper hand, he saw no point in trying to hold the mask of calm. "I knew Lily Evans – Lily Potter," he said quietly. "You are a talented wardcrafter, son, but she – she was incredible." Arthur smiled slightly as memories rose up in his mind. "Maybe it was her Muggle background, maybe it was just how her mind worked, but she was so creative – she could solve problems no one even realized they had."

Arthur cleared his throat and turned his head to look at his eldest son. "So when Dumbledore insisted that Harry had to stay there, that the blood wards would protect him, I went to see for myself. And I found the finest wards that Lily ever crafted."

Bill just waited, and so Arthur shook his head again and kept talking. "Knowing what I know now, I'm sure that Lily set those for her sister out of a sense of obligation, and that she would have never wanted that horrendous woman to care for her son. But at the time, it seemed the safest place for him. Not even Voldemort could touch him there."

"The Dursleys' could," Bill said quietly. "Did you know that once, when he was eight, Petunia Dursley swung at his head with a cast iron skillet?"

Arthur closed his eyes as the image of a tiny, black-haired spectacled boy dodging a blow to the head sprang to life in his mind. When he opened his eyes again, Bill nodded.

"I'm sure there's more," his son continued, "as I haven't gotten him to open up much, yet. He's only been with me a few weeks, you understand."

Arthur waited for the knife. His son was like Molly in that – he knew just where to aim for maximum impact.

"Matter of fact," Bill added, "I'm pretty sure over the course of several summers, he was in your care longer."

"I tried!" Arthur burst out finally. "I went to Dumbledore, I told him we would take him; even though we couldn't afford another child, and even though it would have been dangerous, your mother and I, we  _tried_." He drew in a sharp breath, "But Dumbledore told me about the wards, and I knew – "

"You gave up," Bill said calmly, and Arthur felt a spark of indignation.

"I'd like to see you out-maneuver Albus Dumbledore when he's sure he's right," Arthur muttered, and Bill grinned wolfishly.

"You will. Tomorrow, most likely," his son replied, "as that's exactly what I expect to have to do. But the difference is," Bill added, looking his father dead in the eye, "that  _I will do it._ "

Arthur met his son's bland expression and felt another piece of himself break. "If you think it doesn't haunt me, you're very wrong," he said quietly, and Bill just shook his head.

"I think that really doesn't matter," his son replied, the harsh words completely matter-of-fact. "Don't misunderstand me, you're not the only axe I have to grind." Bill let out a shaky breath then, his first sign of any uncertainty, and Arthur watched him warily. "You're just the only one I never thought could do this."

Turning on his heel, Bill moved to the edge of the orchard. With a glance back over his shoulder, he said quietly, "You're not the man I thought you were."

And he was gone.

Arthur sagged back against the tree, his vision swimming with tears as he finally let go. He slid down the trunk and collapsed on the orchard floor, his breath coming in heaving gasps. A pair of arms banded around his shoulders, and hands wrapped around the back of his head, and he let himself be pressed into a warm, soft shoulder.

"He didn't mean it," Molly whispered in his ear, tears choking her voice. "He didn't mean it."

But as Arthur wept there on the ground, his wife rocking him in her arms like a child, he was fairly certain that Bill had meant every word.

 

* * *

 

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

Bill walked shakily up his porch steps, his legs leaden and his lungs burning. Calm and collected though he might have seemed – and he had, his father's confusion had been obvious – his mind and his heart were racing.

Arthur Weasley was his hero, his idol, always had been. The man who had been such a calm and quiet rock through their entire lives was the exact person Bill had aspired to be. To learn that the same man had turned his back on a child in need –

It had rocked Bill to his very foundation, had destroyed his image and opinion of the man, had shattered everything he thought he knew.

The screen door shut softly behind him, and Bill sagged against the wall.

Oh, it didn't surprise him about his mother. Loving and matronly though she was, Molly Weasley was very capable of an us-against-them mentality, and if she felt her children were in danger, she could do just about anything.

But Arthur Weasley had been his compass, his moral guide.

When Charlie was released from the ward, when they talked about this, he would say that Bill was being too harsh – ever the devil's advocate, his brother was. He'd say that Dad was trying to protect them all, that Dad did what he could, that Dad trusted Dumbledore, and of course he did… and why wasn't Bill more angry at Dumbledore?

A vicious smile curled Bill's lips at the thought of the overworked, overtired, and _over- involved_   leader of the Order of the Phoenix. He had been at odds with the man before, and he could do so again. But Bill didn't feel personally let down by Dumbledore.

Anger and regret surged up in him again as he pictured his father's stricken face, but the image of Harry, sitting alone on his porch steps in the rain, soon replaced it. Bill closed his eyes, rubbed a hand over his face, and sighed.

He likely  _was_  being too hard on his father. His mind flashed back to what he had told Harry, sitting on the beach the afternoon before…

No one could save everyone.

And yet.

This was  _personal_.

He leaned forward, peering around the corner, and smiled at the sight of his crowded living room.

Harry's friends had come over for dinner in celebration of his birthday, not that any of them had been in the mood to celebrate. After the awful night and day they'd all had, they just needed to be together.

Hermione had been the first to arrive, in a fit of hysterics no less. The girl had thrown herself at Harry, weeping and babbling apologies for leaving so suddenly earlier, and Harry had wrapped his arms around the girl and looked at Bill with "save me" in his eyes.

Bill had just chuckled and left the room, disappearing to the kitchen to gather together the supplies for a cake.

Taking a moment to breathe, they had spent two hours over the meal, then another hour over the cake. Then finally,  _finally,_  the six teens disappeared onto the beach speaking in hushed tones as the sun went down.

Then Harry's friends had refused to leave his side. Which meant Bill ended up with a house full of fifteen and sixteen year olds, his youngest brother and sister included. And Hermione, bless her practical soul, had proceeded to turn his living room into a pillow fort paradise that would have done any six year old witch proud.

Bill leaned on the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest, watching them all silently. The teens were scattered across the room in piles, Hermione sandwiched in between Harry and Neville with her hand tucked under her cheek, Ginny curled into a ball up past their heads. A few feet from her, Luna was sprawled out next to Ron, her leg thrown across one of Ginny's, but her head pillowed on Ron's shoulder. Bill bit back a laugh and shook his head, smiling.

It wasn't often that this group acted like  _kids_. And even Ron and Harry were fast asleep.

His smile faded and he straightened up, unfolding his arms and turning to walk back out of the house. He stopped on the porch and tapped his wand against the front door, setting the silent alarm that would alert him if the door were opened. Then, with a quick glance around himself, he strode over to his workshop, pressing his palm flat against the rune etched into the door.

A sharp prick of his palm and he whispered the ward key as his blood soaked into the rune. The rune glowed a soft blue, and Bill stepped back, straightening his robes and tying his hair into a ponytail. Then he arranged his face into a blank mask, strode into his workshop and slammed the door behind himself.

Tonks looked up as he walked in, jumping down from where she had been sitting on a table. The metamorphmagus grinned at him as she popped her bubble gum loudly.

"Spoilsport," she muttered playfully. "You weren't gone long enough for me to have any  _real_ fun with the braggart."

Bill ignored her, turning his attention to the man gagged and bound to the chair. Klaus Brand glared at him heatedly as Bill sat down in front of him, casually stretching before leaning forward and loosening the gag. With careful, slow movements, Bill pulled a glowing red jewel out of his pocket and set the item down on the table. Brand stiffened, his eyes riveted to the jewel, then looked slowly up at Bill.

The cursebreaker smiled. "You," he said quietly, "are going to tell me everything I need to know."

 

* * *

 

 

 

So.... does two chapters in 24 hours make up for me taking two weeks longer than I had planned? ...yes?  Great! 

Reviews are like s'mores... awesome. 

 

~*~Alibi


	6. First They Came

_Nurmengard Prison_

_Plockenstein, Bohemian Forest_

_Austria_

_August 6, 1996_

 

The warden met him on the shore.

Albus stood silently in the darkness, the chill sea spray soaking into the bottoms of his robes. The air here was cold, as it always was, and the island echoed with its eternal, eerie silence. The Alps were a beautiful place, one of nature's greatest wonders, but on this island hidden in the Bavarian Forest, no beauty remained – only a dark, dismal emptiness.

 _Much like the man who built it_ , he thought bitterly, as Tobias came closer, the warden's face lit up in a smile.

The solitary guard greeted Albus with a kiss on either cheek, then led him off towards the prison, chattering happily all the while. Albus nodded and exclaimed in all the right places, smiling gently, though his eyes were darting left and right across the landscape the whole time.

The trees along their path looked almost dead, he noticed worriedly, their branches barren and bark dry, even compared to his last visit. The forest was silent, no chattering of birds, no scurrying of rodents. The air felt heavy, dank, and the even the sun hid from the landscape, shrouded behind clouds. This accursed place had always been quiet, had always been subdued. That was why his old friend had chosen it for his prison, after all. But _this_ … this obscene stillness…

Albus had a terrible feeling.

The tower loomed within their sight, and the jovial Tobias quietened as they passed through the structure's shadow. The guard stopped at the stone doorway and nodded to Albus bracingly. Dumbledore smiled gently back at the man, raising his hand and pressing his fingers to the rune carved in the center of the stone door.

The rune glowed a soft blue, and the door shimmered once, twice, before appearing solid once more. Albus took a deep breath –

And stepped through the door.

The slender man at the desk looked up, his grey eyes piercing.

"Hello, Gellert," Albus said softly.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

_August 8, 1996_

 

"Get down!"

Harry grunted as he flung himself to the ground, the spell burning the hairs on the back of his head as he rolled. Someone had landed right beside him, and their elbow jabbed into his side as they ducked down further. Sand flew everywhere, particles stinging his eyes as he swore angrily, and above him, he heard a deep laugh. Then ropes wrapped around his body, and he knew he was done.

He felt Ginny scramble to her feet beside him and he pushed himself up on his elbows and knees, looking around himself warily. Right in front of him, Viktor Krum stood, arms folded and his wand hanging loosely at his side, a short serrated knife in one hand and an amused grin on his face.

The Bulgarian looked at Harry and flicked his wand, vanishing the ropes. He shook his head as the Gryffindor boy rose to his feet.

"Have heard you vere good," Krum said in his thickly accented English. "On the pitch, they did not exaggerate. This?" The stocky man shrugged elegantly, his grin widening, and Harry scowled.

Ginny scoffed, and Harry cut his eyes at her as the others in their group shifted nervously. Harry felt a twinge of regret at that. He knew his temper the year before had been – _tiresome_ – and although his friends told him that it was all right, and that it wasn't even his fault, he still hated to see them waiting for him to explode.

He shook his head to clear it as the wooziness came back, and grinned wryly as he heard Ginny speaking. "You got lucky," the red-haired witch was saying with a cool expression. "Save me from a giant basilisk and the phantom of Voldemort with nothing but a sword and a hat, and then we'll talk."

Viktor barked out a laugh as Ron and Neville chuckled, and Hermione shot Ginny a _look_. Harry just shook his head, moving over to the table nearby and leaning on the edge. He _had_ lost fair and square, he knew, but it certainly did smart his pride.

If he weren't still achy and slow from that procedure –

"No vone doubts Harry is brave and strong, Ginny," Viktor said calmly. "But he did make mistake." Krum turned his gaze to Harry, who stood silently in place, thinking. "Do you know vhat that vas?"

Harry shook his head at first, staring at the waves as he replayed their little battle in his mind. They'd been doing this daily for about a week now, two hours every day, and rotating pairs so they could get used to fighting with everybody in the group. He and Ginny made a good team – they anticipated each other and they had different styles, making it easier to keep their opponent off balance. They'd had Krum completely outgunned until –

"Don't tell him, Herm-own-ninny," he heard Viktor say, and he could practically feel Hermione glaring at the man. "He needs to figure it out himself."

They'd had Krum outgunned, Harry thought. Until Ginny's feet had been caught in the ropes Krum had sent her way, and Harry had –

He turned his head to look at the youngest Weasley, suddenly embarrassed. She had moved over to the table next to him and was sitting on the table top, swinging her legs lightly. The younger girl met his eyes and smiled slightly, and Harry grimaced.

"Sorry," he muttered, and Ginny just laughed and shrugged.

"We had you," Harry said louder, looking back to Krum. "Then you managed to hit Ginny with ropes and I abandoned the offensive to try to help her. I lost focus."

Krum nodded sharply, and Ginny chucked him on the arm as Hermione smiled at them both. "You are protector," Krum said in a low rumble. "Is in your nature. And is good." His eyes narrowed as he continued, "Your enemies, they know you vell, yes?"

Harry sighed as the point drove home. "Some of them, yeah," he agreed.

"Then they vill expect you to do this, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Always, must be unexpected," Krum said sternly. "In true fight, the unpredictable survive. You train together so you vill know each other's strengths and veaknesses, but must trust each other to take care of selves. You must learn to trust your team." He looked at Harry seriously and said quietly, "If you abandon fight every time a friend is hurt, you vill not be fighting long."

Harry nodded again, more sharply this time, and Krum stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Is good," he said quietly. "You are learning much more quickly than I did in the Auror training."

"When do we start knives?" Ginny interrupted, eyeing the dagger in Krum's hand with an almost alarming hunger. Harry raised an eyebrow as Ron shot her a poisonous look, and Krum smiled at the girl.

"Ven you can go thirty minutes vithout getting hit by a single spell," he told her, chuckling, and Harry grinned as the redhead glared at Krum. "But I am tempted not to let you near a knife," the Bulgarian continued, "you are already very scary."

Ginny rolled her eyes as the others nodded emphatically, and Krum shot her another smile. Harry shook his head at the byplay, straightening from the table and looking around with a sigh.

"Time for the regular training now, yeah?" he said softly, and sure enough, Lupin appeared at the edge of the wards a moment later, followed by Tonks and Moody. Ginny squeezed Harry's shoulder as she went by, she and Luna crossing the dunes to join Lupin with waves of greeting. Hermione darted across the sand and hugged first Viktor, then Harry, then jogged across to Tonks as Neville and Ron went to join Moody.

Harry stayed where he was standing, then turned and looked at Viktor with a sigh. The moment the others had all disappeared, he turned on his heel and headed back up to the house, Viktor falling into step beside him.

"Any news?" he asked in a low voice, and the Bulgarian shook his head with a grimace.

"Heinrich is going to be marked tomorrow evening," Krum grunted, a sad look on his face. "He vas told vhen and vhere to meet the other recruits, but that is all. Is a tavern in Germany, he did not say vhere."

"And he's sure," Harry said sharply, "he's sure he can go through with this?"

"His family vill keep him from his sister if he turns his back on their _cause_ ," Krum spat. "He is happy to serve you in this… it makes vhat he vould have had to do anyvay… tolerable."

"I hate this," Harry admitted bitterly, and Krum stopped walking, grabbing Harry's elbow and spinning the younger teen to face him.

"Is var," Krum said urgently. "Ve do terrible things in var, so others might not have to." He shot Harry a meaningful look, and Harry just shook his head and sighed.

"I still wish you would tell Dumbledore," Harry said quietly. "He could – "

Krum didn't even let him finish. "Don't know Dumbledore," the Bulgarian said with finality. " I know you."

And without another word, he turned and headed for the edge of the wards.

Harry stood rooted to the spot for a moment, then shook his head and went back up to the cottage.

 

* * *

 

"Fuck, I don't know," Bill muttered in an exhausted voice, and Harry hurriedly stepped back on the porch. The teen hovered on the corner, hidden behind the giant potted plant, and strained his ears as the voices from inside lowered.

"It's not like I thought Dumbledore would just stand still and wait patiently for me to make demands," Bill continued, "but I didn't think I wouldn't even be able to talk to him for an entire _week_. Did you hear what Snape said about the – ?"

"We don't know what's going to happen," Charlie replied reassuringly, and Harry heard a sudden repeat of footfalls, as though Bill had started to pace. "And Harry is safe here, you know that. His phase one of battle training not-withstanding… Besides, they can't really think they can get to him _that_ way."

A rustling sound echoed through the room, and Bill let out a tired sigh. "No, but it's just another distraction and…"

"Are you gonna tell him?" Charlie asked quietly, and there was a long pause.

Harry narrowed his eyes, and…

"Before the Order meeting tonight, yeah," Bill replied. "I don't want him to hear it from someone other than me."

 _You must learn to trust your team_ , Krum's voice echoed in Harry's mind, and he felt a surge of shame. Hadn't Bill been honest with him so far?

"Well, you know Harry," Charlie chuckled lightly, "he will, if you don't tell him soon."

Bill grunted, and the two fell silent. Harry forced himself to stay perfectly still, resolved to wait a few minutes before going inside. He didn't want to be caught eavesdropping, after all. That never ended well.

"Is he talking?" Charlie asked suddenly, and Harry's head snapped around. His arm caught on a branch as he turned and –

Bill was leaning on the door frame, his arm stretched across the open door, blocking the entrance, looking at Harry calmly. A trace of amusement warring with annoyance was on his face. "No," he called to Charlie without turning, "Harry isn't talking, he's eavesdropping."

Harry flushed red, then moved slowly up the steps and stopped before Bill. The eldest Weasley son simply quirked an eyebrow at Harry. After a moment of silence, the older man shook his head, grinned, and lifted the arm that had been blocking the doorway. Harry scowled, but since Bill didn't move, he ducked under Bill's arm to enter the cottage, immediately veering right and heading for the squashy armchair that had become his favorite.

Charlie was standing near the window on the opposite side of the room, gazing out at the rocks on the shore, but he turned and scowled when he heard Harry sit down. "That used to be _my_ chair," the dragonkeeper complained, stomping over to the couch and throwing himself down with a huff.

"Stuff it, Chuckles," Bill replied tiredly, sitting in another armchair and looking at Harry contemplatively.

Harry shifted in the chair nervously, then turned to look at Charlie, ignoring his de facto guardian for the moment. The stocky second Weasley son was still rather pale – everywhere that wasn't burned, rather – but he seemed to be in good spirits. The man had woken after less than a day in the hospital wing, ready and raring to get out of bed, but his memory of everything after their trip to Germany was just _gone_.

Charlie didn't seem to be all that affected by his memory loss. His outrageous nature was the same as ever – when he'd first come to Shell Cottage after being released just the day before, he'd offered to show Harry his newest burns, then proceeded to strip off his shoes and shirt right in the kitchen. As soon as he had started in on his belt, a horrified Bill had threatened to kick him out of the house, and Charlie had just laughed.

" _Harry doesn't swing that way, I don't think," Charlie had said matter-of-factly to his brother. He winked at Harry, who was turning beet-red, then continued. "Anyways, he's practically family now, and I have a strict policy about sleeping with family."_

 _Bill hadn't been amused. "The fact that you feel the need to have a_ _ **policy**_ _about that is_ _ **not**_ _reassuring,"_ the cursebreaker had griped, and Harry had burst out laughing as Charlie pouted and stomped out of the house, muttering to himself about crashing at Tonks' flat.

The metamorphmagus had shown up two hours later, Luna and Hermione in tow, and told a laughing Bill that she had kicked Charlie out of her flat for trying to show off his new burns. He was, she had told them, staying at Kingsley's place.

The Auror had just woken up that morning, and was due to be released any day. Harry's mood darkened again as he pictured the burly Auror in the hospital bed, his skull still knitting together, his normally sharp eyes dulled with pain.

Harry shook his head as Charlie shot him a concerned look, then cleared his throat as he forced himself to focus.

"So," Harry said calmly, "what were you going to tell me about?"

Charlie huffed out a laugh and Bill let out another tired sigh.

"We have," the cursebreaker said slowly, "received information that suggests that the Ministry is planning to declare all Muggleborns or Muggle-raised as wards of the state."

Harry froze, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. "What?" he croaked, and Charlie scooted over on the couch, reaching out and squeezing Harry's shoulder reassuringly.

"It's because of all the attacks last week," Bill explained. "Quite a few Muggleborns lost their entire families, and the ones that didn't, well – "

"Fudge is making the argument that the Muggles can't protect their magical children, so they shouldn't have them," Charlie scowled, and Harry felt another jolt of fear.

"Hermione? The Creevy brothers?" he asked urgently.

 _Me?_ He thought frantically, but he didn't say it out loud.

"Bones was able to fast-track paperwork to get Tonks appointed Hermione's temporary legal guardian," Bill assured him. "We were already working on it anyway – Muggles who don't even remember they have a daughter can't really be legally responsible for her. Awful as it sounds," he said with a grimace. "And Amelia is taking in both of the Creevys herself."

"I'm a bit worried about Luna," Charlie pointed out. "If the Ministry decides to declare Xeno unfit – "

"Yes, well, he _is,_ " Bill shot back.

"Which is why she's with Hermione and Dora, and not him or alone somewhere," Charlie pointed out reasonably. "But she's the easiest one for them to get to, now."

Bill grimaced again, nodding thoughtfully. "We should talk to Dora tonight at the meeting," he said quietly.

"Um," Harry said quietly, and both men turned to look at him, "aren't I in…?"

Bill shook his head immediately. "They aren't getting you, Harry," he said firmly, his mouth set in a hard line.

"But you haven't been able to talk to Dumbledore yet – "

The cursebreaker smiled gently. "Trust me," he murmured, and Harry swallowed back his protests.

Pushing back the panic that was threatening to rise, Harry nodded and got to his feet, moving swiftly out of the room.

Before he had even hit the top of the stairs, he was messaging Hermione.

 

* * *

 

_Tonks' Flat_

_London, England_

 

Hermione's communication charm had gone off while she had been in the middle of learning new disguise charms from Tonks, and without even bothering to make excuses, she hastened off to her room to hear Harry's message. Immediately, a grim frown on her face, she had summoned a ream of parchment and started scribbling down names.

Either Bill wasn't worried about all of the Muggleborns students, or he wasn't telling Harry everything, but either way, Hermione was determined they would protect everyone they could.

The last year had taught her the Ministry was not a benevolent organization, and she would be damned if any of their classmates would be left to its mercy.

She slipped out of her room after a couple hours and sent Zeppelin, Tonks' eagle owl, off to Dean Thomas with a frown. Four other missives waited on her desk in her room, and she stood in the window, looking down over London.

It had been quiet over the last week – eerily so, if she were being honest. After the non-stop horror of the attacks on Harry's birthday, there had been almost no activity from Voldemort or the Death Eaters – not even any raids from Greyback. Snape had reported that Voldemort had been closed up in his study, and that only Bellatrix Lestrange had been allowed entrance. They all hoped it meant he was hurt, that the obscene sorcery he had performed in Kent had drained him… but somehow, Hermione doubted it.

She was far more certain that he was planning something even more dreadful.

Hermione cringed as her fingertips began to tingle then go numb, and let out a sigh. Since she had woken in the hospital wing several days before, she felt both better and worse than she had in weeks. She wasn't sure what Snape had done, but somehow, he had changed the nature of the curse's impact on her. She wasn't getting as tired, as utterly drained as she was before. At least, not as quickly.

But the pain was worse. And she felt… strange, in a way she couldn't explain.

The Gryffindor witch shook her head ruefully and turned away.

She didn't want to look at the London skyline any longer, she admitted to herself. It didn't look right anymore.

London Bridge was _gone_ , her parents were lost to her forever, and nothing was sacred anymore.

She shut herself in her room, empty with Luna off at training. After a moment's pause, she pulled out another giant, musty tome, brushing her fingers across the front. The words on the cover seemed to glow with a sinister light…

_Potions Moste Evil_

 

* * *

 

_Knockturn Alley_

_London, England_

 

Ron followed Moody down the winding alley with a blank expression. The normally gloomy alley was practically empty, the usual thrum of noise hushed, the usually fearless criminals, hags, and vampires skulking in the shadows.

He didn't like the feeling of being somewhere even the monsters were afraid to be.

He followed his trainer faithfully, ducking as a sword was flung from a tavern door across the way, stepping calmly over the snake someone had let loose to slither across the alley floor. Moody disappeared into a tiny, dim-looking shop, and Ron slipped through the doors behind him.

They had deposited Neville with Lupin and the girls an hour before, and Moody had taken Ron to his house and shown him a safe room, then brought him straight here. Ron wasn't sure what the man was on about, but Moody hadn't volunteered any information, and with the normally gruff man's pisser of a mood, Ron hadn't dared to ask a question.

So he was there, in Knockturn Alley, in some dismal shop in the very back reaches, waiting to be poisoned or stabbed.

A shopkeeper appeared from the back, a short and scrawny fellow with bug-eye glasses and straw-like hair, his filthy apron coming down almost to his toes. He looked strangely familiar, but Ron couldn't place it. "Al," the man said in a deep voice that didn't match his appearance, and Ron stared.

"Vin," the ex-Auror growled back. He jerked his head at Ron, still standing in the doorway, and the shopkeeper turned his big eyes to peer at Ron. "He needs a full outfitting. Make sure it's top grade."

Vin the shopkeeper stopped staring creepily at Ron to turn and look at Moody incredulously. "Outfitting a non-Auror is illegal," the shopkeeper said softly, and Moody snorted.

"I know the law, Vin, I helped write it," he replied. The man's one real eye narrowed. "Do it."

Vin stared at Moody a moment longer, then nodded sharply. Moody let out another snort, then stomped over to sit in the spindly chair by the window, reaching over and picking up a dust-coated magazine. He shook the booklet out, coughing as clouds flew out of the pages, then settled back in the chair as Ron stared at the man, baffled.

The sudden feeling of being watched had Ron jumping, and he spun to find Vin standing so close, their noses were almost touching. "Come with me," the strange man whispered, and Ron followed the shopkeeper into the back room.

 _If I die back here, Moody,_ he thought angrily, _I'm sicking Gin and Mione on you._

The door slammed shut behind him in another cloud of dust, and slowly, loud overhead lights clicked on, going on, and on, and on down a dark tunnel.

Vin the shopkeeper started to set off down the tunnel, and Ron sighed and followed.

 

* * *

 

_Grimmauld Place_

_London, England_

 

Bill shifted in the high-backed chair with a tired sigh.

It was late, far later than they had originally planned to meet. To say it was still August 8th would be a mere technicality – there were only a handful of moments left until midnight.

The inner circle of the Order had been gathered for nearly two hours at this point, having arrived an hour later than the originally agreed time after receiving a missive from Dumbledore. Even _that_ delay had rankled – he had things to do, places to be, and a still-healing teenager that needed to _sleep_.

Not to mention, Louis's letter was burning a hole in his pocket.

Even McGonagall had managed to be on time, he thought uncharitably, and _she_ had spent the day in Ghana on the trail of a powerful healer.

The cursebreaker shook his head to clear it as he caught sight of Fleur shooting him worried looks. There was no need to get bitter. Better to save his frustration for worthy causes.

Across the table from him, Harry was fidgeting restlessly, rubbing the back of his neck as he always seemed to do when tired or stressed. Bill reached into his pocket and withdrew a runic booklet, passing the bound journal to Harry with a smile. The teen shot him a grateful look and immediately began thumbing through the book, relieved to have something to distract him.

A shadow in the doorway caught his eye, and Bill glanced up to see Kingsley Shacklebolt leaning heavily against the doorframe. Before anyone else could react, Hermione had let out a squeak and jumped to her feet, quickly rounding the table to reach Shacklebolt's side. She calmly pulled the man's arm around her shoulders, helping to prop him up, and steered him towards a chair near her. The burly Auror looked a bit discomfited, Bill noticed, but made no move to stop the girl. Hermione, meanwhile, looked as happy as could be, speaking to the Auror in hushed tones that didn't carry to Bill.

His mother looked thunderous, Bill mused. He could practically hear the rant building in her mind.

Shack had reached the end of the table with his escort, and Hermione murmured an apology to Tonks as she jostled her chair passing by.

"That's Mumsy to you, little lass," Tonks chuckled with a smirk as Hermione dropped in the chair beside her, and Hermione immediately stiffened. The room fell silent as Hermione looked down, biting her lip, and Tonks' face fell as she realized her error. The metamorph reached out, squeezing Hermione's hand gently, and Hermione let out a heavy sigh and shook her head, smiling wanly at Tonks.

As Bill watched, the girl looked down the table, met Snape's eyes, and looked quickly away with a slight flush.

A warning bell sounded in Bill's mind, and he looked surreptitiously between the pair. Nearby, he noticed Lupin looking at Snape with narrowed eyes.

Something about their behavior didn't set right with him, and Bill resolved to keep an eye on things.

 _What are you going to do_? A quiet voice asked mockingly in the back of his mind. _Will you spy on the master spy? Just like you'll outperform the leader of the three-ring circus?_

 _Yes,_ he thought back angrily at his own subconscious, then shook his head again. Arguing with himself was a slippery slope to go down.

He looked around a moment as conversation flared back up, then let out another sigh. Leaning forward, he cleared his throat, waiting for Harry to look up.

"If he hasn't arrived in ten minutes," he said quietly, "take the others back to the cottage so you can –"

The doors banged open behind Harry, and Albus Dumbledore swept into the room. Bill sat up straight and looked calmly at the leader of the Order, and Dumbledore smiled benignly at them all.

"My apologies," the Headmaster said softly. "Shall we begin?"

 

* * *

 

The conversation had dragged on for well over an hour, and Harry's eyes were drooping as it died down around him. Snape was still ranting, his eyes wide and his mouth twisted in a snarl, and Harry bit back a scoff as the man's voice raised even further.

Or, rather, he _thought_ he had managed to bite back a scoff. Judging from the amused looks that Bill, Charlie, and Lupin shot him, he didn't quite succeed.

Harry tapped his fingers on the table, sighing to himself as Tonks shot back, "Harry and Hermione contacted all the Muggleborn and –raised in the DA for a _reason._ It would be a disaster if they fell into the Death Eaters' _or_ Ministry's hands. They simply know too much now."

"And whose fault is _that_?" Snape snarled back, and Harry, out of patience, spun in his chair.

"Voldemort's," he said evenly, ignoring Amelia Bones' and Emmeline Vance's twin flinches. "The tosser just refuses to die."

Bill and Mr. Weasley both chuckled lightly, and Harry saw Mr. Weasley look at Bill sadly.

Bill ignored him.

"Yes, well," Amelia Bones put in, "we seem to have found placements for all of them so far. Dean Thomas was the only one we couldn't contact – apparently he and his mum are visiting relatives in America. But otherwise, all are settled."

"Very good," Dumbledore nodded, and Harry felt a flash of annoyance. _I'm not settled_ , he thought with a scowl. "Now, to business that has been a bit delayed by recent events – the Chamber. Harry, Kingsley, now that you are both up and about, I'd like to go ahead with our plan to scout out the space. Tomorrow, perhaps?" The Headmaster paused, smiling ruefully as he pulled his pocket watch from his robes. "Or rather, today."

"Not if you'd like to meet before noon," Shacklebolt said, his normally deep voice cracking slightly. "I am under strict orders to sleep. And I don't want to nearly die again."

Everyone in the room who had ever been under the care of Poppy Pomfrey chuckled, and the mediwitch in question blushed slightly, shaking her head with a fond smile. Dumbledore smiled at the woman and nodded.

"One pm sounds like a marvelous plan," he said. "Now, I believe that is everything we – "

"Not quite."

Every head in the room turned as Bill spoke quietly, and Harry tensed in his chair. He knew what Bill was going to bring up, hell, he _wanted_ Bill to bring it up, and yet –

His nerves rose and he began worrying the cover of the runes booklet in his hands, staring steadily at the table.

Dumbledore, for his part, seemed to still be trying to pretend. The Headmaster turned towards Bill with a gentle smile, raising one eyebrow. "You have another matter, young William?"

Bill didn't blink. He met the Headmaster's gaze unflinchingly, and said quietly, "Harry."

Dumbledore's face went blank, and the pit in Harry's stomach grew as the whole room went eerily silent.

"Yes," the Headmaster responded after a moment, "I have told you we will talk about plans for Harry, but I feel it would be best done in private."

Harry looked over to see Bill's face twisted in a slight smile. "I've been trying to get a private meeting with you for a week, Headmaster," the cursebreaker said softly, and Snape glowered at him as Dumbledore frowned. Harry turned his gaze back to the table, his discomfort building. _Really, Bill, it’s okay_ , he wanted to say. _Don't worry about it._

A glance at the eldest Weasley son had him biting his tongue. He was pretty sure the other man wasn't going to back down any longer.

And Dumbledore seemed to have come to the same conclusion, judging by the unusual hardness of the older wizard's eyes. "I've been rather busy," he said simply, his tone still soft and friendly.

Bill smiled as the room turned to stare at him, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath. "I can't imagine," he said in a pleasant voice. "And yet, as we've just discussed at some length, the Ministry is currently trying to take custody of many children, and Harry may be one of those at risk. His welfare does take precedence over many other issues."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Mr. Weasley stiffen, and he glanced at the older man curiously. Mr. Weasley just shot him a forced smile, then turned his head to look back at his eldest son. Harry turned back to the Headmaster, who had opened his mouth to speak –

"I am more than happy to speak with you in private, Headmaster," Bill cut Dumbledore off smoothly, "but we must speak immediately."

"Arthur, control your brat," Snape snarled, and Harry and Ginny glared at the man. Arthur shot Snape a rueful smile, shaking his head.

"Bill controls himself," Mr. Weasley said softly, and Dumbledore glanced down the table at Snape as everyone seemed to draw in another sharp breath.

"Severus," he said simply, peering at the man over his half-moon spectacles, and the Potions Master threw himself back in his seat with a huff. Dumbledore turned to look at Harry, his gaze piercing, then nodded sharply at Bill.

"Shall we, then?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully, looking for all the world as though it had been his idea for the two to step out. He rose to his feet and gestured to the door, and Bill smiled at the man and preceded him into the hall.

Harry sat perfectly still in his chair, still fiddling with the runes book, and wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

"Blimey," he heard Ron mutter as he closed his eyes against the sudden headache. "Bill is turning into a right – "

He heard Molly Weasley shush her youngest son and lowered his forehead to the table, his eyes still squeezed shut.

 

* * *

 

The study door clicked shut behind Bill, and he immediately crossed the room to sit in one of the armchairs by the fire. Dumbledore hesitated by the doorway, watching his ex-student curiously. Bill had the distinct impression that he was confusing the man – and to confuse the Headmaster was just _not_ a common occurrence.

But there was more to be gained in throwing the powerful man off-balance than in totally alarming him, so Bill forced himself to stay calm. He leaned back in the armchair, looking politely at the Headmaster, and waited patiently for the older man to speak.

Dumbledore just looked at him solemnly, peering over the edge of his half-moon glasses. "I see," he finally said softly. "Is this to be my reckoning, then? Are you going to demand to know why I didn't remove Harry sooner?"

"No," Bill said quietly. "I don't really care about your reasons. You were wrong."

A heavy silence fell over the room, the fire cracking and hissing behind them. Bill sat unmoving as the Headmaster continued to gaze at him, the man's eyes still dark and angry.

Finally, Dumbledore let out a tired sigh, crossing the room to sit across from Bill. He lowered himself into the chair slowly, wincing slightly as his knees audibly creaked.

"I regret what Harry suffered," Dumbledore admitted softly. "Maybe there was another way, something else I should have done, but at the time?" The man shrugged elegantly, gazing sightlessly at something beyond Bill's shoulder. "It was such a dark and confusing time, and no one knew who to trust. After Sirius Black turned?" Here, Dumbledore winced. "Or so we thought." He turned to face Bill fully for the first time. "I truly thought it was the safest option for him."

Bill just looked back at the older man, his gaze steady and his voice even. "And then you found out he was being mistreated there, and you did nothing."

"I did not know he was being physically harmed, truly," Dumbledore protested quickly. "Had I known – "

"You could have found out," Bill cut the Headmaster off. "When you saw how tiny and skinny he was, you could have ordered Pomfrey to do a full checkup. You could have gone to Privet Drive to investigate. You could have _checked on him, ever._ You chose not to do so."

The Headmaster did not reply.

"But I'm not here to dredge up the past," Bill said quietly. "You failed him. No matter your intentions, it is the truth." He leaned forward, clasping his hands together between his knees. "I'd like to prevent that from happening again. I did what you wouldn't do, Headmaster. I asked Harry what he wanted." The Headmaster flinched, and Bill continued quietly, "And so I am asking you what I need to do for you to back me in a bid for Harry's custody."

Silence reigned in the room again, and Bill carefully held his tongue.

"I've never doubted you were a good man, William," the Headmaster murmured. "You have much of your father in you. And yet…" Dumbledore looked at Bill piercingly, the twinkle still absent from his eyes. "You were content to be on the sidelines even three months ago. You didn't know Harry at all before this summer, nor did you try to." Bill nodded his agreement – there was no denying fact.

" _What changed_?" Dumbledore demanded. "You came back from Italy and immediately threw yourself into the center of the war effort, inserted yourself in an integral position in Harry's life." The Headmaster's eyes turned beseeching, true worry emanating from the man. "I need to know _why_ , Bill."

Bill stared at the Headmaster, surprise flashing across his features. He was fairly certain the man had never deigned to call him Bill. He sat stunned for several moments, one hand curling around the letter in his pocket.

"Why I care?" Bill questioned. "I came back, and I _saw him_ , Headmaster. I saw how tired he is, how alone. I saw how everyone seems to expect him to solve every problem by himself. I saw that he's too skinny, that he's too quiet one minute and too angry the next. I saw the way he holds himself back and apart." Bill shook his head. "I saw a kid who needed someone. Why didn't you?"

It was Dumbledore's turn to fall silent in shock, the Headmaster's hand clenching at his side. Dumbledore just shook his head, nonplussed, and Bill continued.

"As for the war," he cleared his throat and sat back in his seat again, "Harry is at the center of it, there's no undoing that now. Even if we hold him back from the fighting, Voldemort will still drag him into the middle of things. And where he goes, my youngest brother and sister do, too. The only way to protect them is to end this. I might as well do what I can."

Dumbledore chuckled tiredly. "There's no faulting your logic," the elderly man agreed. "And yet, as I hear it, you cancelled the Italy project after just three weeks, and walked out on your contract." The man's gaze sharpened once more and he fixed Bill with a steely glare. "You've told no one of the project, and half of your team is missing. _What did you find down there_?"

Bill felt a cold dread seeping into his bones. He shook his head, smiling ruefully as he tried to keep his expression neutral. "You know I can't tell you that," he replied.

"The Goblins should be out for blood," Dumbledore continued as if Bill hadn't spoken at all. "They never forgive a breech of contract, and yet, all of my contacts tell me they speak quite highly of you. Those from your team who I could even _find_ won't breathe a word. And yet, there are artifacts which can change and shape a person, can impact and control behavior. If that is what you found down there – if that is what sent you racing back to England to be at Harry's side – "

Bill shook his head again. _**Now**_ _you want to protect him_? he thought snidely, but he let out a sigh instead. "I am myself, fully," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. Hell, hadn't he known Dumbledore wouldn't agree easily? Why was he getting upset by it? "I've told you already why I want to help the kid, and you know I'm not lying. And if we want to keep him out of Ministry hands – or _worse_ – we are _running out of time_ ," he said urgently.

But Dumbledore just shook his head, the man's eyes still shadowed. "I cannot in good conscience allow this," he said simply. "Not unless you can tell me what happened in Italy."

Bill's temper snapped, and he tensed as his face twisted in annoyance. "I have contacts all over the world," he shot back, his voice rising. "Consequence of working a job for the last nine years where I travel _everywhere_. If I wanted to, I could make us disappear before you could even take off your damned _hat_. No matter what you _allow_."

"Taking a child without legal right is called kidnapping, William," Dumbledore replied softly. The Headmaster let out a sorrowful sigh and shook his head, raising his wand. "No, I've seen enough. I saw it at Privet Drive with your vengeance ritual – "

 _I didn't_ _ **finish**_ _that,_ Bill thought angrily.

 _Not for lack of trying,_ his conscience mused, and he scowled.

"And I see it now. Your temper is too volatile. You will not be caring for Harry." The Headmaster rose to his feet, pointing his wand at the doors and sealing them in. "He shall be removed immediately, and I'm sorry, William, but I am going to have to _Obliviate_ this summer from your mind. You know too much."

Bill watched silently as the orange spell seeped into the door, the walls, and turned to see the Headmaster watching him sadly. "I'm sorry," Dumbledore said quietly, "I truly am."

The Headmaster raised his wand, and Bill snorted, spinning on his heel. He strode to the doors, reaching into his left pocket, and heard Dumbledore call after him, "Bill, you can't break – "

He pulled a small metal disk out of his pocket, slapping it onto the wall next to the door, and pressed on the center. The five sharp points of the star curled into the wood and the center bubbled forward, and the orange spell splintered. As Dumbledore stared in shock, the ward broke down. In moments, it was nothing more than traces, tendrils like a ripped spider web, and Bill batted at the remnants over the door, then slammed it open and stalked from the room.

 _Yeah, my temper is fairly volatile right now_ , he agreed ruefully, and he took three deep breaths, willing himself to calm. When he hit the meeting room, his stride was purposeful but no longer angry. He stopped just inside the doorway, looking at Harry, who had spun to face him with worry in his eyes.

He felt Dumbledore come up behind him, felt the anger emanating off the wizard – saw Moody stand at the same time as Snape and McGonagall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape pull his wand, and Charlie, Fred, George, and all the kids but Harry sprang to their feet.

He ignored them all, eyes still on Harry. Quietly, he asked, "Do you still wish me to be your guardian?"

The room went silent once again. All eyes swung towards Harry, and the boy silently nodded.

"Alright," Bill replied. "Get some rest. I'll be home soon." As Harry looked at him with confusion, Bill raised his wand, pointing it at the runes book still in Harry's hands. " _Portus_ ," he whispered, and the book glowed blue for a moment, then Harry and the book vanished in a swirl of color.

He heard Dumbledore hiss behind him, but he turned to look at Ron and Ginny, still ignoring the man. "Go to the cottage, would you?" He said quietly. "Keep him company."

His youngest siblings nodded as one, heading immediately for the Floo without even bothering to so much as glance at their parents for permission. Fred hesitated a moment before jumping up and following them, and Bill could feel his mother glaring heatedly at him. As he waited, Hermione, Neville and Luna stood as well, following Fred from the room.

George stayed behind, gazing at Bill in undisguised confusion, and their father sat beside him, unmoving.

Still, Dumbledore stood just behind him, his gaze practically burning a hole in the back of Bill's head. Bill shook his head with another tired sigh. "Charlie?" He said quietly. "Like we talked about."

Charlie nodded and got to his feet, crossing around the table to stand beside Bill. The cursebreaker moved further into the room, turning to face Dumbledore. He took in the Headmaster's thunderous expression calmly, meeting the man's furious gaze.

"I asked you what it would take," Bill said quietly, "I wanted to do this civilly. I _would_ have done it willingly, gladly, with no need for any coercion or reward."

He shook his head, his mouth twisting in a grimace as the room stared at him, as Dumbledore's gaze slowly shifted from angry to worried. "But as you refuse to trust me, which is just _rich_ , considering…"

And Bill lowered to his knees, his wand pointed straight ahead. Charlie moved to kneel beside him, and Bill just looked calmly at the Headmaster.

"Bill," the man said shakily, realization suddenly dawning in his eyes, "this – "

"Kneel, Headmaster," Bill cut him off roughly. "I did not need to be forced to care, but if this is what it takes for you to give Harry a chance, then _so be it_."

Dumbledore stared at him a moment longer, then nodded sharply. He got down on the floor laboriously, flinching as his knees creaked again when they touched the floor, then slowly touched the tip of his wand to Bill's.

Charlie wasted no time. "Will you, William Arthur Weasley, swear to always care for Harry as if he were your own child?"

"I will," Bill replied easily, and a jet of light shot from his wand, wrapping around his and the Headmaster's hands in a figure eight.

"Will you swear to safeguard Harry's wishes and best interests, to the best of your ability, above all other goals?"

"I will."

Charlie cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly. "Will you swear to protect Harry's life and welfare at any cost?"

Bill heard his mother and several others draw in a sharp breath, and Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. "I will," Bill said evenly, and the third ribbon of light wrapped around their bound hands.

The ribbon glowed brightly, shimmering and heating around their hands before dissipating, and Bill got to his feet, holding out a hand to help the Headmaster up. Dumbledore was still staring at him, his gaze contemplative.

"You understand that if Harry dies – "

Bill could feel his mother stiffen across the room. He smiled gently. "I understand many things, Headmaster."

"I still need to know – "

"Dust," Bill cut him off again. "We found a lot of dust, Headmaster, nothing more."

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to shutter, and the Headmaster nodded, sweeping from the room.

Bill stood perfectly still for a moment, letting the shocked murmurs of the others wash over him. The faint buzzing noise in his mind was _bothersome_ , as the Unbreakable Vow tried to burrow into his subconscious, sinking down into his mind and intending to reshape Bill's very being towards its purpose. He raised his Occlumency shields and wrapped a hand around his dragon tooth necklace, his eyes closing as he concentrated on his breathing.

He intended to keep his word, but he didn't intend to be a mindless slave. He'd already changed enough, hadn't he? He just hoped Occlumency would help him to be able to retain his sense of self.

 _Oh well,_ he thought tiredly, _if it doesn't, it's not like I was going to turn Harry out, anyway._

Abruptly too exhausted to function, he turned on his heel and walked out of Grimmauld, Charlie and George following close behind him. He stopped as soon as he crossed the wards and spun quickly, apparating to Shell Cottage.

His brothers tried to hover, but he shook them off and stood waiting until they disappeared towards the house. He'd be damned, after all, if he would let the kids see him so damn weak. Especially the one for whom he was now fully responsible.

He lowered himself shakily onto the nearest sand dune and stretched his legs out in front of him as he tried to slow his racing heart. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Bill leaned forward, listening quietly to the waves, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter from Louis.

_We need to meet. I've got something._

 

* * *

 

 _Thomas_ _Household_

_London, England_

_August 9, 1996_

 

"Blimey," Dean muttered as he hefted the third overflowing trunk over the doorframe. "Did you have to buy so many clothes?"

His mother laughed merrily, kissing him on the cheek as she slipped by him into the kitchen, immediately starting a pot of tea. It was three am, and they had just gotten off a plane, but that didn't seem to bother her one bit. Dean shook his head, smiling fondly as he shut the front door behind them.

"American fashion is just so _fascinating_ ," Kendra Thomas replied with a smile. "Besides, didn't I buy you enough souvenirs? Go put them away."

Dean laughed ruefully, shaking his head with a grin once more, and lifted his one – _one_ – trunk and headed for the stairs. He trudged up through the house, flipping light switches as he went, and pushed his door open with a creak of the hinges.

Odd. His window was open further than he'd left it.

He crossed the room to peer out the window, his eyes narrowed as he looked out into the night. Heart starting to pound, he pulled out his wand –

And jumped as an owl hooted from the tree outside his window. He laughed shakily, lowering his wand, and looked at his windowsill and the dish where he kept the owl treats. It was empty, the dish shoved from its normal position, and he shook his head again, shivering as a gust of cold wind came in through the sill. Moving forward, he set his wand down on his desk and pushed the window shut, and turned and left the room again to help his mother settle in.

He never saw the still-sealed letter, trapped against the wall behind his desk.

 

* * *

 

_Chamber of Secrets_

_Hogwarts_

 

 

"Wands out," Moody snarled, and the grizzly old Auror stomped forward, his peg-leg thumping on the cavern floor. Harry stood at the mouth of the filthy pipe – which Dumbledore had, with a wave of his wand, turned into a moving spiral staircase, much like the gargoyle. Bill's lips quirked as he watched the teen glare silently. No doubt he wished _he_ had thought of that, all those years before.

At that thought, a chuckle did escape from under his breath, and Lupin shot him a questioning look as he stepped even further in front of the teen. The lycanthrope threw his arm out in front of Harry, halting his progress.

Again, Bill could almost hear Harry's thoughts; _honestly,_ his mental estimation of Harry scoffed, _as if I've never dealt with an angry snake before_.

It was somewhat interesting to be down in the Chamber, with the threat of imminent death _not_ looming overhead. Bill had spotted wall sconces in the din and lit each of them aflame, so the Chamber was bathed in firelight. Up ahead was the monkey-like statue of Slytherin, mouth firmly shut as if a hungry basilisk had never slithered out. Beyond the statue was the huge, open expanse where he imagined Ginny had once lay, the life leeching out of her.

Bill let out a shaky breath.

Ahead, Kingsley lit off a flare from his wand, eyes narrowing as he watched its progress. "This goes on for miles, looks like," he said. "Probably beneath the majority of the castle."

Bill shot him a sharp look. "Think it has an outside entrance?" he asked, and Shacklebolt didn't respond, instead counting under his breath. Harry and Lupin moved forward, eyes fixed on the light of the flare.

"It hasn't hit anything yet," Harry pointed out. "I'd wager that's a yes."

"Let's check it out," Kingsley murmured to Moody, and the grizzled Auror scowled.

"Watch out for _snakes_ ," he spat as he stomped forward. "I've got enough problems, I don't need to turn to stone."

Kingsley's lips quirked as the two began heading down the Chamber's length. "Cheer up, Mad-Eye," Harry heard him say. "If you turn to stone, it'll be the closest you've ever come to a _real_ vacation."

The old Auror snorted.

Remus' lips quirked as the bickering aurors' voiced moved away down the corridor, but Bill was done laughing. He strode along the passageway, his eyes roving over every dip and crag in the walls. Coming to a sudden halt, the cursebreaker stared at a patch of stone, his back ramrod straight. The steady drip of busted pipes echoed in the cavern as everyone watched him.

"This," Bill whispered hoarsely, and Remus and Dumbledore exchanged sorrowful looks as Harry stepped forward. "Is this where – ?"

Harry flinched, his breath condensing in the chill air before them. "She fought, Bill." Looking down at the blood and ink stains, his voice rang with quiet pride pride. "She fought for control of her mind, of her soul, harder than I've ever seen anyone fight before."

Bill grinned wryly, images of his spitfire little sister flashing through his mind. He'd always been her favorite, just as Charlie was Ron's, so he was, naturally, the one she had confided in. He had heard Ginny's entire side of the ordeal, every moment each day that she had struggled. But Ginny had only a vague idea of what had happened before she woke in the chamber.

Ginny knew that Harry and Ron had come after her. She knew that they had been separated. She knew that Harry fought. And she knew Harry won.

But _Bill_ knew that the blood on the ground wasn't hers; she'd been very clear on her lack of physical injuries. The one thing nobody had told him was what happened to _Harry,_ he thought angrily.

He eyed the raven-haired young wizard with no small amount of curiosity. What had the boy gone through?

"Here," Dumbledore said sharply, and Bill jumped, spinning around to peer in the direction the elderly wizard pointed. He and the Headmaster were still being rather formal with each other, not having spoken since they had performed the Unbreakable Vow the night before.

Dumbledore had moved closer to the Slytherin statue, his usually twinkling eyes hard and flat. "Harry?" he asked, gesturing to the teen, and Harry exchanged a quick glance with Lupin before stepping forward.

"How did Riddle open it?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let out a long, low hiss. Bill bit back a curse as the ground began to shake.

Torches flickered on the walls as dust rained down on them, and Lupin strode forward, shoving Harry back behind him protectively as the other two men held their wands steady on the statue. The mouth was moving with a screeching, grinding sound, hinging open beneath the likeness of Slytherin's stringy beard.

The rumbling stopped when the statue's mouth touched the floor, and Harry jerked free of Lupin's hold once more. Bill shot him a sideways glance as he stopped next to him. Harry's face was blank, his eyes flat. The teen shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly shook his head.

 _Stop hovering over me,_ Bill translated silently, and he turned away from the younger wizard and walked up into the opened cavern. The rotted remains of small creatures and shed snake skins littered the ground, giving the air a sickly smell. Lupin hastily cast a Bubblehead Charm around the others, but Bill stepped free of its range and moved further into the dank.

"Damn," Kingsley cursed behind them as he and Moody rejoined the group. He wrinkled his nose against the smell as his eyes scanned their surroundings.

They stood in a long stone room with craggy, uneven walls. The ceiling dipped and rose in more than one spot, sharp protrusions of rock sticking out. Bill fired off a flare and watched as again, the light kept going – and going – and going...

"Looks like it goes all the way to the entrance," Moody said gruffly, his glass eye following the light of the spell, and Dumbledore sent him a sharp glance.

"It does open into the forest, then?" the Headmaster asked worriedly, and Moody nodded.

"So anyone could have walked in here," Lupin muttered angrily. "At any time."

"Doubtful," Kingsley said quietly. "We couldn't get the door to open, so it likely requires Parseltongue just like everything else in here."

"But Voldemort could walk in," Harry pointed out, and the four men went silent. "I'll need to go down there and change whatever password is used," he said with a shrug.

"How will you _know_ the password, boy?" Moody asked harshly, and Harry shot him a strange look.

"I'll know," was his only reply.

Bill shook his head silently, turning his attention back to their surroundings. The cavern branched off in two different directions up ahead, with what looked like a small sitting area down beyond the break. He moved forward carefully, his wand tracing patterns in the air as he watched the ground beneath his feet. The others watched curiously as he raised his hands, palms forward, and began to whisper under his breath. _"takshif 'asarurk,"_ he muttered. "' _azhar nafsak._ "

A shimmering webbing appeared on the ground up ahead, green traces shooting through the rock like veins, and he halted where he stood. " _tansha,"_ he breathed. A sharp crack rent the air, and the green shimmer exploded outward –

"Shield!" Moody bellowed, but Dumbledore had already moved, and a transparent golden dome appeared around them all. Bill, too far ahead of the others, was hit by the backlash, dozens of cuts lashed across his skin. The red-headed man didn't even flinch, his ponytail swaying as a gust of wind flared up from the ground around him. It formed into a small twister, shimmering green threads flowing in an angry swarm reminiscent of a disturbed hornet's nest.

 _This is nothing compared to Dahshur_ _and Florence,_ he thought calmly, eyeing the twister that surrounded him. Bowing his head, he brought his palms together in a resonating clap.

" _Nathar!"_ he shouted, and with one final crack, the twister disappeared. Bill watched dispassionately as small bones and skins rained down on him, shaking his hair out with a frown.

Spinning on the heel of his dragon-hide boots, he grinned at Harry, whose jaw looked like it was going to hit the ground.

"My job looks a little more exciting than you thought, hmm?" he asked with a sharp grin, and the teen stared.

"That's _normal_ for you?" he asked, and Bill raised an eyebrow as the others chuckled.

Waving his hand at their surroundings, Bill shot back, "Rescuing damsels from a giant snake is _normal_ for you?"

Harry shook his head with a wry smile. "Point," he murmured, and his eyes danced. "I'm telling Ginny you called her a damsel." The danger gone, he managed to shrug off Lupin and moved further down, looking around him with narrowed eyes.

The sitting area was a small, circular space, an ornately carved desk leaned against one wall and an array of armchairs behind it. There was a slight scent of rot in the air, but the furniture certainly didn't look a thousand years old. Truthfully, Bill reflected, the style of the chairs was no more than two or three hundred years old. One chaise sat before the armchairs, its fabric torn and matted in several places. An old-world style tome lay on the cushions, its pages yellowed and fragile.

"My word," Lupin breathed, his eyes scanning the walls to the right of the desk. A good half-dozen bookcases stood there, overflowing with the fragile old texts. It was Bill who stepped forward, casting a quick reveal charm to check for curses or traps, and carefully picked up one of the books. He flipped through the pages, then grabbed another.

"Blank," he said with annoyance after the seventh tome.

Harry was standing silently beside Dumbledore, his gaze dark and anxious. Glancing at Dumbledore, he let out a tired breath as the elderly headmaster nodded. Harry held out his hand towards Bill, and the cursebreaker hesitated a moment before handing Harry one of the tomes.

The teen closed the cover carefully, looked down at the book, and _hissed_. Opening the cover once more, he held the book out in front of him for the other men to see.

Slowly, writing began to appear in the books, ink welling like blood coming out of the pages. After several moments, the flow stopped, and the ink, still glistening in the dim wandlight, began to rearrange itself on the page.

Bill let out a low whistle as Moody cussed under his breath.

None of the men said anything as they stared down at a clear, though roughly drawn, map.

And Dumbledore smiled, the hardened smile of a hungry predator.

 

* * *

 

_Zauber Centre,_

_Bavaria, Germany_

_August 11, 1996_

 

The man moved quietly through the darkness, his eyes narrowed as he peered around himself the still alley. His hands were clenched in the pockets of his robes, one hand around his wand, one around the handle of a dagger. A sudden shuffling sounded behind him and he spun sharply, pulling the dagger from his pocket –

And came face to face with a rat, sitting on a shop windowsill, its small nose pointed up to the sky. The creature squeaked in terror when it saw him, scurrying down into the gutters.

The man let out an angry sigh, shaking his head, and set off back down the street.

The pub was the only lit building in the alley, and he slipped through the doors quietly, moving immediately to the bar. He settled heavily on a stool, propping his elbows up on the bar, and signaled the barkeep with two fingers.

"What'll it be, lad?" The grizzly old barkeep asked as he leaned on the bar, and the man didn't reply. He simply reached into his robes and pulled out a photograph, setting it down on the countertop between them. With a blank expression, he slid the photo over to the barkeep, and the older man froze as he stared down at the image. The barkeep looked up at him fearfully, then spun on his heel and rushed around the bar.

"Everyone, _out_!" The old barkeep bellowed, and the man bit back a smile.

The other patrons grumbled and glared, but after several moments, the sound of chairs and stools scraping across the floor echoed through the pub, and heavy footfalls sounded towards the door. The man didn't turn, but instead reached across the bar, picking up a full bottle of whiskey and uncorking it. He put the bottle to his lips and drank slowly, his right sleeve bunching around his elbow as he did.

The symbol burned into his wrist glowed in the dim light as the barkeep spun around to stare at him.

" _When_?" The barkeep demanded hoarsely, and the man just smiled.

 

* * *

 

A/N: I think I've finally hit a regular rhythm here, and I should be able to update every two weeks now. Next chapter: legalese, more pain, some serious conversations - and a dash of light kidnapping may come into play! 

Reviews are like a three day weekend! 

 

~*~ALIBI


	7. The Stubbornness that Clings

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

_August 11, 1996_

 

Harry sat on the shore in the darkness, staring quietly at the waves. His feet were bare, his toes curled into the cool sand, and his always-wild hair stood up a bit more frightfully than normal. He closed his eyes, feeling the salty breeze across his face, and smiled.

He liked it there.

He liked living at the cottage, the simple peace of the place. He liked all the open space and the small, airy room where he slept, the comfy living room with all of its squashy chairs and couches. He liked being able to retreat there when things got too serious, liked starting his day sitting on the beach, liked the easy calm Bill seemed to emanate –

What did it say about him, he wondered, that the summer had actually been the best of his life?

The sun was starting to creep over the horizon, and Harry let out a sigh, leaning back on his hands. He supposed it made him rather selfish, with all that was happening, but it was true. The cottage was peaceful and homey without being stifling, his friends could come and go, and Bill –

The eldest Weasley son was _nothing_ if not attentive.

From the beginning of the summer, when he first turned up on Privet Drive and whisked Harry away to the shore, to every lesson they'd held with and without Dumbledore, to dinner on the way back to Privet Drive nearly every time – from the moment Bill Weasley had stepped onto the scene in Harry's life, things had started to drastically change.

And living at Shell Cottage was _unreal_. He had clothes that fit – that actually _fit_. Bill and Charlie and the twins kept giving him little things to put in his room, to decorate or organize with. He could see or speak with Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny and Neville whenever he wanted, for the most part. He ate three times a day – even when he didn't want to.

No one yelled at him for waking them up with a nightmare. Quite the contrary, he'd woken several times to find Bill sitting on the edge of his bed, a hand on Harry's shoulder and a look of worry in his eyes.

The sky grew lighter as the sun rose in the sky, and the air around him warmed as a mist sprang up from the shore. Harry let out a contented sigh, lying back on the sand fully.

And that wasn't even taking into account all of the _talking_.

Oh, Bill was subtle about it. He was considerate of Harry's feelings, not demanding a play-by-play or grilling the teen. No, he treated it more as a trade-off. He'd weasel a little detail out of Harry about his childhood or his adventures in school, then tell Harry some wild tale from one of his jobs.

Not that Harry didn't notice the way Bill would react to his childhood stories. The cursebreaker kept a level head, but Harry always saw the spark of rage or dismay in the older man's eyes. He frequently found himself downplaying events, or even aging himself up – honestly, the way Bill had reacted to the idea of Petunia swinging a skillet at his head when he was _eight_?

Harry was pretty sure the man would have dug her out of the ground and killed her all over again, had Harry told him he was really four at that point.

Bill Weasley was also, he thought sadly, extremely protective.

It was nice, having someone act that way towards him. Oh, his friends were always in his corner, he knew that, but he'd never had an adult – not even Sirius – care so much, about him, _for him_. Never had someone listen, and act like what he had been through actually _mattered_.

It was nice.

He just hoped Bill would let him do what he had to do, when the time came. Because no matter what, he was the one fated to face Voldemort. He was the one who would have to kill the monster, or die trying.

 _ **And**_ _die trying, more likely_ , he thought dimly. Harry was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He would never give up, but he was almost one hundred percent certain he wasn't going to survive the war.

The sand shifted beside him and he felt a hand slip into his as Luna settled on the shore beside him.

"Thinking like that will get you nowhere," she murmured softly, and Harry sighed.

"Good morning to you, too," he said shortly, turning to face the Ravenclaw, and Luna smiled at him sleepily.

"Hello."

This had fast become their ritual. Every morning, not thirty minutes after Harry woke, Luna joined him on the beach, and the two sat there and watched the sun rise. Most of the time, they didn't speak. But some mornings –

"You aren't a villain for being happy," Luna said quietly, and Harry let out another sigh. "Being relieved that your personal circumstances have improved doesn't mean you're _happy_ so many people have suffered or died. It just means you're getting stronger."

Harry scoffed. "I don't feel stronger," he whispered, and Luna squeezed his hand. The tiny girl scooted across the sand, laying her head on Harry's shoulder, and Harry obediently raised one arm and wrapped it around the girl.

He wasn't really sure why she insisted on sitting like this, but he minded it a little less every morning.

"You are getting stronger," Luna whispered back. "And kinder, and wiser. It comes with age – and a good support system. And the disappearance of the Nargles."

"Maybe," Harry said quietly. He craned his head back and looked behind them at the cottage. A light had come on in the kitchen – probably Bill, making Fleur some coffee before he snuck her out of the house. Harry snorted to himself in amusement – why the man insisted on pretending Fleur wasn't spending the night, he would never understand.

A shadow crossed over one of the windows, and he hurriedly turned his gaze back to the waves. Bill was standing in the kitchen window, watching them on the beach. He felt the weight of being watched disappear after a few moments, and let out another tired sigh.

"I'm just tired of losing everyone I care about," he admitted after a long silence, and he felt Luna tense.

"Not everyone," she said back, steel entering her voice, and Harry stayed silent, biting his lip. He raised one hand in the growing light and brushed it against the edge of Luna's hair, playing idly with the long blonde strands.

"I won't let it be everyone," he whispered.

 

* * *

 

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St. Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

 

It had been a long time since he'd seen his parents' yard so _crowded_.

Bill sat quietly atop a worn picnic table, Fleur seated on the bench next to his knee. The part-Veela was leaning heavily on his leg, her eyes closed as she sighed softly, and Bill smiled as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

She'd been tired quite a bit lately. He hoped she wasn't getting ill.

She sighed again in her sleep, scooting closer so her head was pillowed in his lap, and Bill shifted slightly to balance her weight better. The beautiful girl slept on, and Bill felt himself fall just a little further.

 _I'm never shaking this one_ , he thought to himself ruefully, a crooked smile on his face.

The small glowing fairy in the bushes nearby buzzed closer, and Bill shot the creature a quelling look. He'd already checked – it wasn't an Animagus, nor a trap of any kind, was in fact exactly what it seemed, and it didn't seem to be controlled by anyone. But still, he wished it would go away. He felt like he was being watched.

Looking out over the expanse of fields, he felt his smile waver slightly. The yard was overflowing with Order members, witches and wizards all gathered around food, drink, and silly party games. Even Dumbledore was there, his lurid orange and lime green robes practically an affront to the eye. The elderly Headmaster stood facing Bill, his face twisted in a brilliant smile, as he listened to Fred tell some wild tale, the prankster's hands gesturing erratically as he spoke.

It was an odd way to be spending a Sunday, after all that had happened over the past several weeks. But his mum had put her foot down, insisting that everyone needed to have some fun, to 'take a breather and remember what we're fighting for.'

And what Molly Weasley demanded, Molly Weasley usually got.

The table shook as Tonks flung herself down beside him, and Fleur groaned in her sleep, a frown creasing her face. Bill shot Tonks a glare as he reached down and cupped his free hand around the back of Fleur's neck, rubbing lightly at the curve of her shoulder. The blonde woman let out another happy sigh and quieted, and Bill looked up to see Tonks watching them with a sad look on her face. A few feet away, Shacklebolt settled himself into a lotus position on the grass, his hands resting on his knees.

"You could try talking to him," Bill said quietly, and Tonks scowled as Charlie thunked down on the bench beside Fleur. Without missing a beat, his brother reached around and picked Fleur's feet up off the ground, spinning her slightly so her legs were across his lap.

Bill gave his brother a _look_ and Charlie grinned at him innocently. "What?" the dragonkeeper asked with a chuckle, "she was slipping."

Bill shook his head, rolling his eyes at his brother – whose hands, he noticed, were politely resting on the bench next to him – and turned his attention back to Tonks.

The metamorphmagus was ignoring them all, her eyes fixed on the shabbily-dressed man standing across the grass, talking quietly with Bill's father.

"I've tried," she said despondently, her hair shifting from bright pink to a mousy brown. "He doesn't listen, he barely even _looks_ at me unless something is wrong."

"He thinks he's too old for you," Charlie said around a mouthful of jerky, and Bill wrinkled his nose at his brother's manners.

"And maybe he has a point," Bill said quietly, "he's got 13 years on you, Dora, and – "

"And I don't care," she said stubbornly, and Charlie shook his head.

"Hell, I told you, Dora," the dragonkeeper said with a grin, waggling his eyebrows, "I'll take you out for a spin anytime, just say the – "

"Eew," Tonks said flatly, and Bill reached out and shoved his brother's shoulder. "You're like my brother, you great berk."

Charlie just laughed. "Just trying to be helpful!"

Bill tuned them out as Tonks started to reply, his eyes drifting over the people in the yard. Amelia Bones had just arrived, Susan and Hannah in tow – along with Hannah's baby sister and the Creevy brothers. Hermione and Ginny had peeled off from near the house and headed straight for the other two girls, Ginny handing Sue a drink as Hermione crouched over Hannah's sleeping sister, cooing at the child. As he watched, Hannah passed the child over to Hermione, and the two girls moved over to a nearby hammock, settling in quietly. The Creevy brothers bee-lined across the yard to where Neville and Ron stood near the pond, and…

He finally found Harry, standing in the shadowed edges nearest the kitchen door, a strangely solemn look on his face. He started to move, shifting Fleur carefully with the intent of passing her over to rest with Charlie –

And Luna appeared out of nowhere, the girl slipping through the crowd and making her way towards Harry. Bill felt a hand on his arm and he started, looking down to see Fleur smiling at him gently.

"Let 'er," the Frenchwoman said softly, and Bill nodded, settling back down on the tabletop. Fleur let out another happy sigh and laid her head back down. With an imperious glare at his brother, she wiggled her toes demandingly, and Charlie just laughed, shooting Bill a look, then pulled off the woman's sandals and started rubbing her feet.

Bill bit back a laugh, and exchanged an amused look with Tonks as the Auror bumped his shoulder with a grin. Fleur could certainly command a room.

But the lighthearted mood was broken as the shabby man across the way turned towards them, and Bill watched as Tonks went stiff, her hair changing to a solid black. He squeezed her shoulder lightly and looked over at Lupin, nodding at the man. Behind the ex-professor, his father stood in the shade, watching Bill sadly. Bill met his father's gaze for a moment, then turned away.

"You're going to have to talk to him eventually," Charlie pointed out quietly.

"I know."

"I don't know why you're still shutting out just _him_ , anyway," Charlie continued, as Tonks and Fleur exchanged an uncomfortable look. Fleur pulled her feet carefully out of Charlie's hands, pushing herself into a sitting position, and she slipped away towards Viktor, who had just appeared near the corner of the house.

"I know," Bill replied, a little more edge in his voice this time, as Lupin drew close enough to hear.

"I mean, he's not the only one who left him there," Charlie pointed out in a maddeningly reasonable tone. "Why don't you stop talking to Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and Hagrid, and Lupin…"

Lupin himself flinched, drawing in a sharp breath as he reached the group, quickly deducing the subject. "He has a point," the lycanthrope said quietly, "it doesn't really matter my reasons, I did run out."

"Yes, well, you tend to do that," Bill said uncharitably, Tonks' abrupt change of mood at the front of his mind. He shook his head and scowled as the older man shifted uncomfortably, enough of a peacekeeper that he wouldn't even defend himself.

Bill sighed. He would have to apologize for that. Especially as Tonks had stiffened even worse beside him. _That didn't help, Bill_ , he thought at himself angrily. _Stop being a twit_.

"What troubles you, Remus?" Charlie asked instead, and Bill raised an eyebrow as the man's gaze hardened.

"We need to talk about Hermione and – "

"Snape," said Bill and Tonks at the same time. He felt, more than heard, Shacklebolt tense – the man had gone cold and angry, as if the very mention of the Potions Master's name were enough to set off his temper. The burly Auror pushed to his feet and joined them, Lupin sitting at the edge of one bench as Shack walked around to settle on Bill's other side.

"He's not here, at least," Charlie breathed, a relieved look on his face, and Tonks snorted.

"Him? Spend time with _us_ willingly?" She chuckled. " _Please_."

"I'm not complaining," Shacklebolt said in his usual quiet boom, and Lupin frowned.

"Not to interrupt this Snape-bashing session," the man said softly, and with a slight smile, Bill noticed that only Tonks had the grace to look ashamed. "But I feel like this is a serious matter."

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "The way they are acting around each other is alarming," he agreed. "At the meeting the other night, she seemed almost flushed every time she so much as glanced at him."

"And considering he has such control over her treatments, and how much time they spend together as a consequence of that," Lupin added, "I find it worrisome."

"I ran into them at Hogwarts the other day, and he was standing far too close to her," Tonks said with a scowl. "She looked uncomfortable, and – " Her voice trailed off, and Bill and Lupin both turned to her with an expectant look. Tonks cleared her throat, then shot Shack an apologetic glance, "He made a comment about _you_ , Kings. That your affection for her was improper. Right in front of her."

The Auror let out a quiet growl. "Tonks," he said urgently, flexing his fingers as his dark face paled, "you know I would _never_ – "

"I know, Kings," Tonks said gently, but Lupin was looking at the man thoughtfully.

"Severus has always been gifted at emotional manipulation," Lupin replied. "It's how he's survived so long as a spy in Voldemort's ranks."

" _If_ he's really a spy," Charlie said bitterly, and Bill and Lupin shook their heads in tandem.

"I don't think he's genuinely working for Voldemort," Shacklebolt said shortly, sounding as though the words pained him.

Tonks scowled. Turning to the lycanthrope, she asked with a bit of sting in her voice, "And what do _you_ think? You've known him longest of all of us."

Lupin smiled ruefully, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You remember Pettigrew got by me, right?" he asked with a shake of his head. A shout echoed from near the pond, and as one, the group spun around, all of them drawing their wands –

Only to stare bemusedly as they saw Ginny standing on the shore, hands on her hips as she yelled at the twins, who were standing in the water with Neville, laughing hysterically.

Charlie shot a grin at Bill as they all chuckled, sitting down and letting out a shaky breath.

Maybe his mum was right. They were all a bit wound.

"I don't know," Lupin continued as though he'd never been interrupted. "To be honest, I don't believe he truly devotes himself to anything. But I don't think he's working for Voldemort, not faithfully."

"I think, " Bill started, then stopped himself, shaking his head. "I think whether he is faithful to the Order or not, working for our side doesn't automatically make him a good man. And I think he's dangerous."

"We're _all_ dangerous," Charlie said with a bit of a smirk, and Bill shot him a serious look.

"Not like that."

"Maybe we should just _talk_ to her," Lupin said quietly, his gaze resting on the curly-haired teen who was now sitting alone in the hammock.

"If Snape has done something to her," Shack asked hesitantly, "would she necessarily remember?"

"She has a strong mind, and a strong will," Bill replied, his hand idly playing with his dragon tooth earring. Tonks scoffed beside him, and Bill's gaze followed the fairy that had reappeared near the bush. It was gathering berries, he noticed – or trying, as the berry it was plucking was nearly its size. He leaned over and grabbed a smaller berry off the bush, pinching it in half and offering it to the fairy, and the small creature glowed brighter and buzzed happily, zipping back into the shrubbery.

"Plenty of abused women are strong," Tonks said angrily. "It doesn't always save them."

Bill swallowed as the image of a dusty tunnel rose up in his mind, the metallic tang of blood in the air. He closed his eyes, shaking Charlie off as he felt his brother clap a hand to his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw Shack watching him thoughtfully, but Tonks and Lupin seemed not to have noticed his distraction.

"Talking to her is still the first step," the older man said gently. A slight smile grew on his face as he looked out across the yard, and Bill followed his gaze. Ron and Harry had appeared from different sides of the yard, both of them honing in on Hermione like beacons. As he watched, his brother flung himself into the hammock beside Hermione, nearly toppling them over, and Harry reached out and steadied them before climbing in on Hermione's other side.

Shack let out a chuckle, his brilliant white teeth glinting. "If nothing else, Bill, you can at least try to get a sense of what's going on. I don't think her Occlumency is that well developed yet."

"That's an invasion of privacy," Lupin said quietly.

"A necessary one," Tonks argued back, and the lycanthrope fell silent with a frown. "It'll have to be another day though," she continued. "He won’t have another treatment with her for three days, so we have some time. But... don’t you have to go check on that project, Bill?"

Bill scowled at the thought of his _project_ , and hopped down off the tabletop. "Right," he said as Lupin looked at him curiously, "it'll be a couple days before I can do much else."

Tonks nodded, and Lupin coughed abruptly. "Well, I have some research I can be doing, then," the older man said hurriedly, and Tonks' face fell slightly. "I'll see you all another time."

"I'll join you, if you don't mind," Shacklebolt said as he stood slowly, wincing as his legs stretched. "Merlin knows you're brighter than me, but still."

"I don't know about _that_ ," Lupin argued graciously as he nodded, and the pair crossed the yard without another word.

"Right," Bill said again, rubbing a hand across his face. "Charlie, let everyone know I had to leave for work? Tonks – "

The metamorph let out a laugh, and tore her gaze away from where Lupin had just disappeared. "I'll keep an eye on things," she said lightly, and Bill nodded and walked away.

 

* * *

 

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione muttered waspishly, "you're all elbows." She reached up and pressed on her pendant with a scowl, her fingers shaking slightly as she moved her hand.

The redhead grinned at her from her left, shifting up slightly in the hammock so Hermione could sit more comfortably. His arm fell across her shoulder and the curly-haired witch ended up tucked into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Hermione sighed comfortably, then let out a squeak as Harry climbed in beside them, immediately sandwiching her between the two boys. Harry shot her an innocent grin as he stretched out so his arms were above his head, and Hermione huffed, then put her hand on his arm, closing her eyes as the breeze kicked up around them.

She, Luna and Ginny had been making a real effort to hug Harry more and get him used to positive physical contact. Apparently, he was adjusting. If not for the burning sensation in her veins, Hermione would say that the day was just about perfect.

"This is," the boy in question said quietly, "a weirdly peaceful day."

Ron grunted in agreement, and Hermione craned her neck to see the tall boy's eyes closed, his free hand rubbing his eyes. "It's a nice break," he agreed. "Mum had the right idea."

"Everybody's relaxing," Hermione murmured quietly. "And Hannah is even letting people help with the baby."

"I can't believe she's really going to raise that kid by herself," Ron said incredulously, and Harry shook his head.

"Wouldn't you?" he asked. "If everyone was gone and it was just you and Ginny left, wouldn't you take her in?"

"Ginny doesn't tend to need much help these days," Ron snorted, then let out a tired sigh. "Merlin, how do we always end up on depressing things?"

Harry chuckled, and Hermione closed her eyes.

 _You should tell them_ , her mind whispered.

 _Don't,_ another voice sounded, this one dark and biting, _don't put that burden on them._

It was odd, how much her subconscious was starting to sound like Snape. Clearly, she was spending far too much time with the man.

"It's nice, being able to spend time together like this," she said instead. "I know we see each other for training every day, but how much do we get to hang out anymore, just the three of us?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "We'll need to make sure we set aside time when we're back in classes," he said softly. "I'm glad Gin and Neville and Luna are part of the team now – "

"Especially Luna," Hermione said teasingly, and Harry shot her a poisonous look.

"But you two are my best mates."

Ron grinned, and Hermione smiled softly, scooting over to put her head on Harry's shoulder instead. The tall redhead sat up in the hammock slightly, turning on his side so he was hugging Hermione from behind, and flung one hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry grimaced, shoving Ron off of him, and the youngest Weasley son laughed merrily.

"It's kicked in now," Hermione said quietly, and both boys' expressions turned serious.

"That time-delay privacy spell is a brilliant piece of work," Ron said with amazement. "Where did you come up with _that_?"

Hermione grinned. "I found a couple books in Bill's living room, and I borrowed them," she said coyly, and Ron snorted.

"Book thief," he muttered. "And you were always such a goody two-shoes."

Harry shook his head with a grin, then his eyes darkened. "How long til this times out, Hermione?"

"We have maybe fifteen minutes," the curly-haired witch replied, "I'll feel it dissipate."

"So, debrief," Harry said sharply. "I'll go first. Viktor heard from his man, he's in. They are in some manor in the Alps, training. Either the guy doesn't know where, or he literally can't say."

"Any description of the surroundings?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed, and Harry shook his head.

"Not much," he replied. "I'll show you the letter when we finish training tomorrow morning, see if you can suss anything out. Also, no progress on figuring out what Mr. Weasley and Brand did to me. Every reference book I've been able to find that talks about a 'taint' only mentions detecting it, not removing it. And," he scowled, "the books we recovered from the Chamber are probably going to take me at least a decade to copy."

Ron let out a heavy sigh. "As for my dad and Brand," he said shortly, "since you've said you feel healthier and stronger since then, I'd say it was probably a good thing. But we should still find out exactly what they did, so we can watch for side-effects. Bill isn't saying?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not sure Bill knows exactly what they did yet, either," he said ruefully, and Hermione patted his hand.

"The maps in the books," Hermione cut in, "do you recognize anything?"

A sudden shriek echoed across the lawn, and they whipped around to find Sue had joined Ginny on the pond's edge, both of them now yelling at Hannah and the twins as they splashed around in the water.

"No," Harry replied as they all relaxed back into the hammock. "It looks like one is somewhere in Scotland, maybe? But I couldn't tell."

"Well, we'll just have to go through what you've managed to translate so far, and see if anything makes sense," Ron said reasonably. "My turn. I've been able to recognize some spells and places in the memories. It looks like one of them might be a safe house."

Hermione spun to stare at him as Harry's jaw dropped. "Are you sure?" Harry asked, and Ron grimaced, his eyes shadowed.

"It was definitely Rosier's bolt-house at one point," the redhead said, swallowing harshly. "And he had supplies and books there. But Harry – "

"Rosier has been dead for almost twenty years," Hermione finished. "There's no guarantee anything is still there."

"It's worth checking out, at least," Harry said urgently. "Can you get an anonymous tip to the Order?"

Hermione frowned lightly. She understood Harry's concerns about Ron's memory-visions. She knew he was afraid some members of the Order would misuse him, if they realized he was slowly and systematically seeing Evan Rosier's every memory.

But she still thought some of them could be trusted, and she was frankly shocked that he wouldn't even agree to tell Bill.

"I'll send it off from Brighton this time," Ron agreed, "I know a place I could Floo to undetected. And I've already diagrammed the spells for you, Hermione."

"Which leaves – your turn," Harry smiled slightly at Hermione, and the girl winced.

"Not much to report," she said quietly. "Every ritual or potion I've checked into so far… Harry, the consequences are too great. If they work at all."

"Like what?" Harry asked as Ron frowned.

"Like overloading your core and killing you," she said, and Harry opened his mouth to speak, his jaw set. "Or like twisting you, and turning you into something like _him_."

Harry subsided with a scowl, throwing himself back in the hammock. "Just keep looking," he muttered.

"Well," she said hesitantly, "there is _one_ thing I found which might work."

"Are you serious?" Harry asked with a relieved laugh, "What, Hermione?"

She let out a shaky breath, then met his eyes, "It's a power sharing ritual," she explained quietly. "It would allow Ron and I – and whoever else joins – to send you our powers, so that you can do what you need to do."

Silence echoed around them, and Hermione felt the privacy spell start to flicker. Harry just stared at her. "And what would that do to _you_?" He asked quietly.

Hermione swallowed slightly as the air around them grew charged. "Well – "

But Harry was already shaking his head, an angry scowl twisting his features. "I've heard enough," he said harshly. "That's not happening."

And without another word, Harry jumped up and stalked away from the hammock, leaving them swinging wildly. Hermione tumbled off-balance and she felt an arm around her as Ron held her steady. The burning in her veins suddenly increased, and she let out a chocked breath as she struggled to calm herself –

The hammock swayed again as Ron climbed down from behind her, and he walked around to face Hermione, holding out a hand to help her down. The youngest Weasley son was watching her with a sad look, his eyes dark and shadowed. As her feet touched the ground, Ron wrapped her in a hug.

"Whatever it takes, yeah?" he whispered gruffly as he let her go, and Hermione nodded, meeting his eyes.

"Whatever it takes."

 

* * *

 

_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

_August 12, 1996_

 

Fred stepped back with a satisfied nod, his eyes skimming over the walls. The tricks his eldest brother had taught him were definitely going to be interesting to see in action.

He slipped his wand back into the arm holster his dad had given him, then locked the cash register, moving back around the counter. George was already there, and if he didn't hurry, he was going to be late.

Fred locked the shop behind himself and set off to the Leaky, nodding to Tom as he disappeared up the stairs. Stopping on the top step, he winced. He could hear the ruckus from outside the room.

But Fred Weasley was nothing if not a master of chaos. So he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and entered the room.

"Okay, everybody!" he shouted immediately, and the volume died down as everyone spun to stare at him. From a table near the front, he saw George shoot him a grateful look, and he grinned winningly at the crowd. "Thanks for waiting for me, the party can start now!"

A few weak chuckles sounded, and Fred nodded as he moved across the room to stand next to his twin. He took in the curious gaze of Florean Fortescue, the indulgent gaze of Madam Malkin, and the piercing stare of Garrick Ollivander as he looked around the room.

"Judging by the decibels," Fred said shortly, "I'm guessing my handsome twin has already told you why we asked for this meeting?"

Mr. Blott snorted, the man's purple top hat shaking as he shook his head. "You expect us to fight?" he said incredulously. "We are _shopkeepers_ , not soldiers!"

Murmurs broke out in the crowd, and Fred frowned. "No one said anything about _fighting_ ," he said immediately. Turning slightly to his side, he asked George quietly, "Did you say anything about fighting?" George immediately shook his head no, and Fred nodded calmly. "RIGHT THEN!" he shouted, as several of the shopkeepers burst into shouts again. "No one said you have to _fight_!" he continued heatedly. "But surely, we can all admit that this war is not good for the Alley, for the safety of its patrons, _or_ for business, yeah?"

"All of us?" a smooth voice asked, and Fred turned to see Edgar Borgin looming near the doorway. The man stood with his arms crossed, his wand dangling from his fingertips and a slight smile on his face. His oily hair was hanging down in front of his eyes, but he looked at Fred calmly.

"Who let you in here?" Fred demanded, then he spun slightly and looked down at George, who looked just as nonplussed. "Who let him in here?" he asked George with a hiss, and his brother shrugged helplessly, holding his hands up before him. "Right," Fred said sharply, turning back to Borgin. "This is a meeting for the _Diagon Alley shopkeepers_ , and slimy Knockturn crooks need not apply. You can see yourself out." He pointed to the door, and the murmurs sprang up again.

"I've been here longer than you've been alive, boy," Borgin said simply. "You think you can waltz in here and start making demands after just a couple months?"

Fred felt his face heat, the tips of his ears going red, and he opened his mouth to retort. Before he could say a word, Fortescue got to his feet swiftly, moving so he was standing between Fred and Borgin.

"You're not welcome here, Edgar," the kindly ice cream man said sternly. "Please go."

Borgin looked between Fred and Fortescue for a moment, smirked, then turned on his heel. The door slammed behind him, and Fred let out a relieved breath.

The meeting devolved into shouting twice more before they had finally worked out a plan and a rotation. Fred and George watched as the last of the shopkeepers slipped out the door, then threw themselves back into their chairs with a groan.

"That went well," George said tiredly, and Fred huffed at him in astonishment,

"Did you see – "

"Yeah," George replied.

Fred frowned worriedly. "I hope we – "

" – gave them enough time."

Fred and George looked at each other silently. Only half of their mission had really been accomplished, after all.

Garrick Ollivander had left the meeting ten minutes earlier.

 

* * *

 

_Ollivander's_

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

 

"We have to hurry!" Charlie hissed, glancing worriedly at the door as his brother pored over the storage room.

Bill just grunted at him, not even looking up. The cursebreaker was standing in the middle of some weird, glowing blue circle with arms sticking out of it, balls of light disappearing through the walls as he watched. The little spheres moved through the walls, then back over boxes on the shelves, changing colors as they hovered over certain ones. Bill reached out and snatched up each box that had a red glowing orb over it, casting a spell towards the ones over which the orb was green. The pile of boxes in the bag at his feet was getting _ridiculous_.

Charlie was sure what his brother was doing was for a good cause - he hoped - but he was still standing in the doorway of Ollivander's, acting as a lookout as Bill basically robbed the man blind. And Bill was taking _wands_.

And books. He glanced over at the strange glowing creature Bill had conjured, which was systematically shoving tomes into another bag. As he watched, Bill looked up and turned to the glowing thing – honestly, it looked like a damn _yeti_ – and practically barked at the creature, "We don't need that one, take the next one! _That_ has the passage we – "

"What the fuck are you doing, reading the damn things with your mind?" Charlie asked sharply.

"Yes," his brother said simply, then flicked his wand again. The yeti-like creature vanished and its bag flew across the room to land at Bill's feet. As Charlie watched, Bill looked down at the bag then traced his wand in a figure-eight above it, and the same books that had disappeared from the shelves only a moment before, reappeared, transparent, then shimmered back into view in their original places.

But the bag was still full. Charlie looked at the bag, then his brother, then the shelves, then said, quite eloquently, "Huh?"

"I need these," Bill replied, and Charlie scoffed.

"I get that, so why are you putting them _back_?"

Bill shot him his regular _why are you like this_ look, and Charlie bit back a swear. He was a smart man, dammit. He'd done well in school without even trying. He read books, on _purpose_ even.

And around his eldest brother, half the time, he felt as dumb as a box of rocks.

"They're copies," he said simply. "I don't want anyone to know we were here."

"But if they're so important," Charlie asked, "shouldn't we be making sure the Volde-snort and the Death Squad don't get their paws on them?"

Bill glanced at him with an amused grin. "If someone with a Dark Mark touches them, they'll incinerate."

Charlie stared. "You can _do_ that?"

"Yes," Bill said simply again.

"Why don't you just put that spell on the kids?"

Here, Bill paused, his eyes shadowing. Charlie watched him carefully, and finally, Bill said quietly, "It does bad things to living creatures."

Charlie swallowed, feeling like a berk. "Right. Never mind. But what _is_ that thing, anyway?"

He gestured towards the circle Bill was standing in, and Bill grinned lightly. "It masks my magical signature," he replied, "even if someone figures out we were here somehow, they won't be able to see me. Not with any spells or potions or traces. Not unless they know the counter to this exact spell."

Charlie stared at his brother again, looking hurriedly over his shoulder before he hissed, "So what about _me_?"

"Look up," Bill said wryly, and Charlie glanced up to see a strange circle swirling on the ceiling above him, the tendril-like arms dangling towards him. He jumped back in horror as one of the arms swung his way, and let out a gasp.

Bill laughed out loud.

A sudden tinkling sounded through the room, and Bill whipped around to stare at the strange, glowing rectangular pane he had slapped up on the wall as soon as they had walked in. He pointed his wand at the pane and a view of the outside of the shop appeared – showing Ollivander walking towards the doors.

"Time to go!" he said cheerfully, and with a wave of his wand, the last marked boxes slipped into his bag, and the shimmering copies slammed more quickly into place. The shelves creaked slightly and Charlie winced, standing stock still as he willed for himself not to be seen. He closed his eyes as tight as he could –

And opened them to see Bill standing there, looking at him patiently. The yeti-like creature had reappeared at his feet.

"Let's go," he said simply, then turned and moved towards the back door. "Clean up, boy!" he hissed, and the yeti wagged its backend like a damn _dog_ , its tongue hanging out as it moved through the room, leaving a glowing white spell trail behind itself. As Charlie watched, a strand of Bill's long hair that had landed on the floor just _vanished_ under the yeti's hand. The large bags spun through the air and shrank as they flew, disappearing into Bill's robe pockets.

Charlie darted after his brother, feeling a spell tendril brush his face from the strange circular thing above his head, and he shuddered at the slimy, tentacle-like feeling. The door swung open silently just as he heard the front door chime, and as he stepped out the door hurriedly, Bill paused in the doorway.

"Come on!" he hissed, but Bill was looking off to his left, his eyes narrowed. As Charlie stood there, holding his breath, Bill stepped back into the shop, his eyes on some jewel on a purple pillow. Bill reached out and gingerly picked up the jewel, sliding it into his pocket, then turned and went out the door.

The yeti followed them out, and the back door settled shut behind them just as Charlie heard the inside door from the shop open. He let out a shaky breath, and Bill clapped him on the shoulder and headed off down the Alley as he laughed. The yeti trailed them for a moment as Charlie struggled to catch his breath, then disappeared.

Charlie chanced a glance up, letting out a relieved sigh as he realized the creepy purple tentacle thing was no longer hovering over him.

"Why," he asked heatedly, "did I have to be a lookout if you could _see_ someone coming?"

Bill looked at him with confusion, his brow furrowed. "You wanted to help," he replied calmly, turning towards Fortescue's and whistling under his breath.

Charlie stared at him. "I _wanted_ to go meet up with Gwenog and get _shagged_ ," he said angrily. "I thought you _needed_ – "

"Honestly," Bill cut him off as he settled at a table behind the ice cream shop. "You don't need to act like a jackass, Chuck, it's just me."

"I _am_ a jackass!" Charlie shouted back, and Bill stared at him before bursting out laughing.

"I'm sorry," his older brother replied, chuckling. "But you wanted to help, and there wasn't really any way you could."

"I don't like it," Charlie grumbled. He glared at his brother, eyes narrowed. "I helped you steal."

Bill shrugged. "You didn't, really," he pointed out. "You kind of just stood there while I did it."

"That defense always works in court," Charlie huffed, and Bill grinned again.

"Really, Charlie, do you even understand what my job is?"

Charlie sighed, shaking his head. "Did you at least get what you were looking for?"

Fortescue bustled over at that exact moment, clapping a hand on Bill's shoulder with a smile, and Bill talked to him quietly for a moment as Charlie zoned out. A few minutes later, the man disappeared, and Bill turned back to his younger brother.

"And then some," Bill said easily. "Everything I need to figure out the puzzle, plus some extras."

"At least one shiny 'extra,'" Charlie muttered. "Did you even need that?"

Bill grinned. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I'll find out."

"Can't believe you're acting like some common thief," the dragonkeeper muttered, scowling again.

Fortescue reappeared just then, two dishes and a small bag in his hands. He set the bag at Bill's elbow with another clap on his shoulder, then handed Charlie one dish, and Bill the other.

"But Charlie," Bill said with an unrepentant grin, "I _am_ a thief."

Charlie thought about griping some more, but his brother had bought him peanut butter and banana ice cream, so he shut up and ate.

But as Bill sat across from him, practically vibrating with a gleeful energy, it occurred to Charlie that maybe he really _didn't_ understand his brother's job.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

"It didn't _work_ , Harry," Hermione said heatedly as she followed him down the path. "I tried twelve different derivatives and – "

"So number thirteen will probably work," Harry pointed out calmly, and Hermione glared at him in frustration.

"Do you realize how _long_ – "

"Is there anything you happen to think is more important?" Harry asked quietly, and Hermione fell silent.

They had been working on the project for weeks now in secret, not even telling Ron what they were doing. Bill taking him on that little field trip to Germany, and the subsequent recovery, had thrown them off just a little on their timeline, but Harry and Hermione were committed.

One way or another, they would solve the problem before Christmas.

"Just – ugh," Hermione stamped her foot as she groaned, coming to a halt outside the doors to Bill's workshop. "I wish we could go in there," she muttered. "All of Bill's books are so _useful_ , and I bet – "

"Tried," Harry said shortly, scowling as he looked at the door. "It's warded up tight. Besides, the only thing Bill asked me to do is – "

"Yes, well, he didn't ask _me_ anything," Hermione cut him off. She stood there staring at the door appraisingly, her eyes narrowed. "I bet I could – "

"Hi!" a chipper voice sounded behind them, and Harry and Hermione spun on the path to see Bill standing behind them with a Fortescue's bag in his hands. "What are you up to?" Bill asked lightly, walking over to them. Harry flushed, looking at the man guiltily, and Hermione smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Tonks sent me over," she said lightly. "She has duty."

Bill nodded thoughtfully, still smiling. "Where are the others?"

"Ron is off with Moody," Harry replied, "and Luna, Neville and Ginny are running drills with the DA."

"But you're not?" Bill asked. Harry jumped slightly as he looked at the man. Somehow, Bill had managed to shift them all so he was standing between them and the shop door. Harry hadn't even seen him move, or felt himself move.

"No," Hermione replied, looking at Bill strangely, and Harry knew she felt the oddness too. "We thought we would work on the maps and see – "

"Bill," Harry interrupted her, staring at his guardian, "what's in there?"

Bill smiled easily, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing to worry about, kid."

"Is it dangerous?" Harry asked. "Is that why you told me to – "

"You're being paranoid, Harry," Bill chuckled slightly, and he grinned at the teens, holding out the ice cream bag. "Here. Freeze this if you don't eat it right away, alright? I have work."

Harry stared at the man a moment, but Bill's friendly expression didn't change. "Alright," he said finally, taking the bag from Bill, and the older man squeezed his shoulder with a smile.

"I'll be a bit," Bill said. "Send a patronus if you need me."

Harry nodded, turning on his heel and walking up the path. He felt Hermione hesitate a moment before following, and as soon as they walked through the front door of the cottage, he heard a spell land softly on the door behind them.

He stopped in his tracks, and Hermione just looked at him, then shook her head. Slowly, carefully, she looked behind them, then opened the door slightly. Harry glanced back across the way and saw the shop door open a crack, Bill peering out. Hermione quickly shut the door.

"Monitoring charm," she said simply. "He'll know if we go outside."

Harry was silent, moving quietly into the kitchen and putting the ice cream bag in the ice chest. He was bothered, sure, but – it wasn't like they weren't keeping secrets from Bill.

"I know I'm not the most trusting person, but – " he started to say, but Hermione cut him off, her eyes wide.

"Harry," she said seriously, "that was _weird_."

"I don't think Bill would hurt us," Harry said quietly, and Hermione shot him a sad, knowing look.

"Just because he wouldn't hurt us, doesn't mean what he's doing is safe," she pointed out softly. "Harry, we should try to figure out what's in there."

Harry let out a shaky sigh, raked a hand through his hair, then nodded. Turning on his heel, he headed up to his room for the maps. Hermione paused, glancing out the window towards the shop, then followed.

He was going to figure it out, he resolved. Just as soon as Hermione went home. Bill Weasley had done more for him in one summer than other adults had done his whole life, and he'd be damned if he'd let the man get into trouble.

 

* * *

 

Bill let out a relieved sigh as the kids disappeared upstairs, watching through the viewing pane as Hermione glanced repeatedly towards his shop through the kitchen window. Behind him, Brand sat in grudging silence, the wily man still closed in an empty room, nothing but a set of walls that turned transparent on Bill's command, and a door that only appeared when Bill activated it. He had no cot, but a conjured mattress on the floor, no toilet, but a bucket, and food appeared twice a day without a plate. Everything had been spelled against alteration, and the wards in the room dampened Brand's magic.

Still, he worried, and he added more wards every day. The man shouldn't even be able to float a _feather_ in that room – but he'd seen less gifted men escape more difficult prisons.

He wasn't taking any chances on the man's ingenuity.

"Alright," he said sharply, and the German man snorted at him, "let's go through it again."

 

* * *

 

Nothing distracted Hermione quite like a mystery. Harry watched as the girl leaned over the books on his desk, her eyes darting over the text he'd been able to translate so far.

As far as Dumbledore knew, he was sending off everything to the Headmaster without a copy, but Harry wasn't that foolish. He _knew_ there was something in the books he would need.

Hermione turned from the half-translated spell with a frown, turning her gaze on the maps. "This is incredible," she breathed, "the _detail_." As Harry watched, she traced her wand on the maps, then pointed at the wall, and a projection appeared. Hermione stepped forward, crossing her arms across her chest, and stared at the image with a frown.

"This is a castle," she said suddenly, reaching forward and tracing over a strange symbol with one hand. "My dad's mate, he's an architect, and he did remodel work on one of the royal palaces a few years back. The schematics looked just like that." She frowned again. "The symbols look the same, but I imagine they might have meant something else a thousand years ago."

Harry shook his head. "There's been a mention of a fortress more than once already," he said. "You're probably right."

Hermione glanced at him sharply, then waved her wand again, and a map of current-day England and Scotland appeared transparent over the other image. She stepped even closer, peering at the fortress symbol.

"That's in Scotland," she said quietly.

"It looks like it's in Glasgow," Harry pointed out, and Hermione bit her lip.

"If these maps really are a thousand years old," she murmured, "things change. Mountains erode, rivers shift, land builds up, volcanoes erupt and change entire landscapes, techtonic plates shift – it's a starting point, but it probably isn't exact."

She turned on her heel, staring at the books spread across Harry's desk. "Harry," she said urgently, "we have to find this fortress."

"If it was a fortress of Slytherin's, who knows what could be in there," Harry muttered, and Hermione turned serious eyes to his.

"If Voldemort found these books," she said quietly, " _he_ could be in there."

 

* * *

 

Bill swore under his breath as the ceiling shook around them. Spinning on his heel, he watched as Louis ducked a skeleton that was reaching for his throat, as Jessica shook off a small, dog-like creature. He looked behind himself and scowled.

 _No_ _better_ _that_ _way,_ he thought to himself, _we need to_ –

Suddenly, Jessica turned to face him. Her face was half-melted away, one pretty blue eye sticking out against naked bone and tendon. She reached a skeletal hand towards him, whispering, "You should never have come…"

Bill stared in shock, and the walls burst open, skeletons crawling from the fissures as Jessica's skeleton advanced on him. "You don't belong here," she hissed, and he went for his wand, only to find it missing. A dull horror was building up in him – why couldn't he move? He never froze like this –

A booming sounded behind him, and he spun as the ground split open behind him, and a glowing blue light shot up from the ground. Around him, an ethereal voice sounded. _Time to pay the price, wizard. You can't steal this secret._

"You should never have come," Jessica snarled, and a skeletal hand closed around his throat.

"Bill!" Louis was yelling, "Bill, wake up!"

The ground started to shake under his feet, and Bill shot forward –

And two pairs of hands grabbed him, dragging him back as he practically fell out of the bed. He gasped, shaking, and blue sparks formed between his fingers as he struggled to calm himself. Letting out two rattling breaths, he closed his eyes, opening them quickly as Jessica's mangled face appeared before his eyes.

Turning his head, he rested his forehead on Fleur's shoulder, listening to her heartbeat as she played gently with his hair. The mattress creaked and Bill swallowed carefully. He looked down at his hand and closed his fist, then carefully opened it.

No more sparks.

He let out a sigh of relief, then sat up, meeting the worried eyes of Harry Potter.

"Hello, Harry," he said quietly. "I guess we should talk."

His ward just looked at him quietly, his green eyes shadowed.

 

* * *

 

In his small, windowless room, Klaus Brand sighed, stretching his arms above his head. It had been days he'd been stuck in here, and truthfully – he was getting bored.

He cracked a grin at the thought of what he was going to do when he got out. The eldest Weasley kid was _good_ , he admitted, better than he'd anticipated. But he'd heard, he'd seen, something that was much more interesting.

Klaus had waited a decade, but he had his next big project.

He just had to get to it.

He looked at the spot on the wall where the Weasley boy always summoned the door, and smiled lightly. With a grunt, he reached into his mouth and poked sharply, his nails drawing blood as he scratched at the inside of his mouth. A river of blood pooled in his mouth and he spat harshly, coughing as some of the blood ran down his throat.

After several minutes of picking at the inside of his own mouth, a small metal chip fell into his hand.

Klaus looked down at the chip with a bloody smile, then rose to his feet.

 _Time to get to work_ , he thought cheerfully.

 

* * *

 

 ~*~ALIBI


	8. Dust Thou Art

_The Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

_August 14, 1996_

 

Christ, but he was tired.

Reg scrubbed his hand over his face as he squeezed his eyes shut. He stood in the hallway before the elevator banks, the parchment holding his latest assignment crumpled in one hand.

It might not have taken him three tries if he'd been able to bloody _sleep_ lately.

But no. He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose, opening his eyes slowly. He _was_ sleeping – quite a lot, actually – it just didn't feel like it. Maybe he needed a new pillow, or a new mattress.

But mattresses were _expensive_ , so maybe he'd just double up on the coffee for a bit.

Reg nodded to himself. His mind made up, he straightened, raising his wand and turning to fully face the elevators. This time, he was able to cast the complicated charm in one go. His chest puffed out with pride. The charm was labelled as a protection charm in his assignment – hadn't he basically helped to save people?

The now-familiar green glow seeped through the elevator bars, then faded away, and Reg turned on his heel and headed back to his desk, whistling as he went.

 

* * *

 

_Moody's Hideout_

_Unst, Shetland Islands_

_Scotland_

 

"Again!" Moody barked, and Ron let out a tired groan. With a muttered swear, he dropped to his knees on the ground, then stretched his arms and legs out, weight resting on his palms and the tips of his toes. He lowered slowly to the ground, then pushed back up, his arms burning. In the back of his mind, he heard a quiet, high voice begging him to _please let go_ , and he felt bile rising in his throat.

"I can't hear you!" Moody growled, and Ron muttered more viciously under his breath.

"One two hundred, two two hundred, three," he counted off as he continued the push-ups, sweat dripping down into his eyes.

Moody grunted his approval and sat down on the edge of a nearby picnic table, pulling his flask from his pocket.

Ron was pretty sure his arms were going to turn to rubber any moment. He'd been out there in the field for what felt like days, moving the entire time. Since Moody had dragged him there at the crack of dawn the day before, he had been put through a veritable boot camp, running laps, rowing a weighted down boat through a pond, push-ups, target drills…

If Moody ever got tired of wizarding England, he was fairly certain the man had a promising future as a tyrant ahead of him.

Christ, he was _tired_.

 _I'll do anything_! the shrill voice echoed, and the image of a bloodied wrist, pale and delicate, flashed before his eyes.

His push-ups came to a halt as he counted to fifty, two hundred, and Moody slashed his hand in front of Ron's eyes, signaling him to stand. Ron shot to his feet on shaky legs, scowling slightly as Moody gave him an assessing look.

Moody's grizzled face twisted in an almost-grin. "Better," the ex-Auror breathed. "Next session, you should be able to make three hundred without embarrassing me."

A breeze kicked up around them, and Ron let out a sigh of relief. "Is it time to turn back yet, sir?" he asked curiously.

"No," Moody replied shortly. "Merlin, kid, sit down before you fall down." The Auror shoved the bench back with his foot, and Ron obediently moved across the field to all but collapse on the picnic table. Moody chuckled lightly as Ron slumped against the side, shaking his head.

"You did well," the ex-Auror said quietly, "your balance and stamina are improving, and so is your aim. Your focus needs work, though, kid."

Ron barely managed to hold back a glare as the pleading continued in his mind. He'd like to see _anyone_ concentrate through –

"You forget," Moody added, his fake eye swinging suddenly to stare at Ron, and the youngest Weasley son swallowed. "I know what is in your head, boy. I may not be able to see it like I did it, but I'm the one who brought Evan Rosier in. I'm the one who killed him when he broke free. And nine times out of ten, I was the one who was standing over the bodies he left behind."

The screaming quieted in his mind, a soft whisper now, and Ron swallowed harshly again as he met Moody's eyes. The Auror's usually dark face was softened, his real eye looking solemn and pitying. Ron didn't say a word, just looked down at the top of the table.

"Rosier was as sadistic as they come," Moody murmured as a bee buzzed by them in the field. Ron turned his gaze to follow the insect, focusing on the buzzing sound it gave off, desperately trying to give himself something else to think about. Moody huffed behind him. "Dolohov is the only one who comes close, but he gets bored easily. Rosier, though, he could linger over someone for – "

"I know," Ron said shortly, swinging back to look at Moody angrily, and he felt a flash of regret as the Auror jumped slightly at something in his eyes.

"Aye," Moody agreed slowly, "you do."

The pair fell silent, and Ron turned back to watch the bee again. It had crossed beyond their bench and was hovering by a flower bush nearby, happily buzzing away at the flower.

Ron closed his eyes again, and he started as he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

"My family, we've always fought," Moody told him. "My parents were Aurors, and my father's parents before them, and their parents before them. We have stories of fighting the Roman incursion at Hadrian's Wall, all the way back to the first Moody standing by the side of Gryffindor's grand-nephew. We've always fought the darkness, and we always will."

The man closed his real eye, then opened it and spun to fix his gaze on Ron again. "The thing about fighting a war, son, is sometimes you lose a battle. You never stop fighting, but you can't win everything. Sometimes, the darkness wins." Moody's gaze grew more urgent, and Ron drew in a shaky breath. "You have to learn to close it out, son. If you dwell on that darkness, you'll go mad."

Ron rubbed a shaking hand across his eyes, then turned away a moment before spinning back to Moody. "You found them?" he asked thickly. "Found them the way he – "

"Aye," Moody agreed. He lifted his flask, taking another sip. "The first time, I didn't sleep for three days. And I wasn't a damn rookie," he added bitterly. Without turning, Moody held the flask out towards Ron, and Ron hesitated a moment before taking the tin. He tipped the container to his mouth, managing to hold back a cough as the burning Firewhiskey hit his throat.

"How do you forget?" Ron asked. "How do you look at a woman at all? I – the other day, in training, I accidentally bruised Sue's wrist, and I wanted to kill myself." He swallowed harshly, closing his eyes. "It was an accident, she was supposed to twist out of my grip, it was what we were practicing, but she didn't... and I hurt her, and she laughed." He swallowed again, shaking his head and taking another pull from the flask.

For long moments, the only sound was the bee. Ron set the flask down on the tabletop, rubbing his hands across his face again. The silence from Moody was almost suffocating, and he was terrified to look up – he didn't want to see the disgust, the pity, the anger in the older man's eyes.

He felt a gnarled hand squeeze his shoulder again, and he glanced up instinctively. Moody was looking at him with eyes that held no disgust, no pity, no anger… only shadows. The ex-Auror smiled at him sadly. "You don't ever forget," he said quietly. "You just learn how to stop thinking about it all the time." The man cleared his throat, coughing sharply. "Why don't you go ahead and turn back after all?" he suggested. "We've done enough to be getting on with for now. Get some rest."

Ron nodded slowly, rising to his feet as he pulled the small jeweled hourglass from the chain around his neck.

It was August 14, and the day was drawing to a close as the sun began to sink over the horizon. Ron spun the small device in his fingers eight times over, then let out another shaky breath and stepped back, moving quickly across to the cottage. He watched as Moody did the same and slunk off into his room. Ron let out a heavy sigh and paused in the doorway.

Another Ron came over the hill nearby from the pond, another Moody clunking along after him. He sank back into the shadows of the house to avoid being seen, then crossed the living room quickly to the room Moody had given him.

It was the end of the day on August 14, just gone eight pm. He had lived through no less than seventy-two hours at Moody's hide-out in the past day.

The ex-Auror's training methods were a bit extreme, Ron thought, but he was fairly certain the man hadn't gone to these lengths to train his Auror cadets. Moody had shown up at the Burrow and dragged Ron out of bed that Tuesday morning, spiriting the teen off on a carriage ride, then the summer Express, then a horseback trek through the Scottish wilds, then three separate Muggle ferry boats. Finally, after all that, they arrived on an island which, Moody told him, was his home. They had walked a five mile hike after that before reaching what seemed to be Moody's pride and joy, an old Muggle convertible that was stashed in a rickety looking garage in the woods. Another thirty minutes driving, and they were at a heavily warded field, with a picturesque little pond and a charming little cottage as the only things in sight for miles around.

Ron was pretty sure the man liked the place so much because you could see for ages in every direction, but then, he _was_ a paranoid old bugger for a reason.

Moody had shown him to a room to settle in, then taken him to the field not an hour later, and immediately set Ron on an obstacle course the likes of which he had never seen. When Ron felt like he was going to die, his lungs burning and his eyes stinging from the salt of dripping sweat, Moody slapped the Time Turner around his neck, spun the thing back, then told Ron to go get some rest in his new room. Ron had stared at the man, but obeyed, too exhausted to protest.

What Moody had intended as six to eight hours of rest turned out to be only three, thanks to Ron's mind, but that was rather not the point.

So Ron had gotten up and wandered through the cottage, exploring the huge library, the small dueling room, the multiple locked doors he couldn't seem to open… and finally, at hour seven after he'd been turned back, Moody stomped into the room and led him to the kitchen, then outside after a quick meal.

And they began again.

Moody apparently planned to keep him there for a week in the real world, then send him back home. That would be, if they kept up this pace, three weeks of intensive, round-the-clock training.

And three days into the strange time warp, and Ron could feel himself getting stronger.

But sleep just _wasn't_ going to happen right then, so Ron let out a sigh and stalked off into the library, settling down heavily in a straight-backed wooden chair. He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, then pulled the nearest open book towards him. The title glowed gold in the darkness, _**Defensive Rituals**_ standing out in stark relief against the black leather cover. He lit a lamp and stretched, then turned his attention to the book.

By the time he went home to his family, Harry and Hermione, he would have something to contribute.

 

* * *

 

_The Rookery_

_Ottery St. Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

_August 15, 1996_

 

"Bloody hell," Neville muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. "Think we're out here early enough?"

Hermione shrugged lightly, shooting him a grin. "Hard to train them to fight in darkness during the day," she replied, stifling a yawn. Harry and Ginny appeared behind them, a tray floating along filled with teacups and sugar bowls, and Neville let out a relieved sigh. He helped himself to a cup in the cool night air, furrowing his brow and shaking his head as he did.

"We could have cast a spell," he gripped, and Ginny laughed.

"We all have to be able to keep useful and think clearly when we're exhausted," Harry pointed out simply, looking out over the field. The separate DA teams were scattered across the property in groups of three to five, Lupin, Charlie, Tonks, Shack and Krum moving stealthily between them and trying to catch the groups off-guard. The Hufflepuff contingent was doing the best, Neville noticed, watching with interest as Hannah Abbott managed to block three spells in a row shot at her team by Lupin. She didn't seem affected at all by the early hour – in fact, from what little Neville could see of her face, she seemed wide awake.

Better than him, he thought as he let out another jaw-cracking yawn.

Honestly, two am was too early to be doing _anything_. The sun wouldn't even be up for another four hours.

"Well, they are definitely trying, I'll give them that," Ginny said firmly, and Luna let out a quiet sound of agreement.

Neville shook his head to clear it, then sighed as the quiet murmurings of his friends washed over him. He could stand out here and moan internally, or he could be helpful. Gulping down the rest of his tea, he set the empty cup on the floating tray and slipped his wand from its holster.

Harry nodded, eyes narrowed as he stared across the field. "See if you can trip her up," he said quietly, eyes on Hannah. "It's a good chance for a demonstration."

Neville didn't reply, just moved across the field.

The Rookery was a strange piece of land, much like its owner. Weeks of visiting Luna here for hours or days had left him familiar with the landscape, but it was still rather treacherous to navigate even in daylight. With the slopes and sudden drops, the shrubbery that moved when it felt like it, the trees that would suddenly pop up out of nowhere – the place was a botanist's dream, but a tactician's nightmare.

Which, he reflected, made it a perfect place to train unseasoned fighters – themselves included.

He slipped carefully past a small copse of trees, swallowing when he heard a creaking sound coming from the upper branches. _You've fought_ _ **Death**_ _ **Eaters**_ _, Longbottom, get it together_ , he thought harshly, and he set his jaw. A few feet ahead, he could see Hannah and Sue standing back to back, Ernie and Justin right behind them. Hannah was deflecting spells being shot their way by Lupin, Sue holding a shield spell over the group of four. As he watched, a soft blue light hit the edge of the shield and spread, and the light flickered across the grounds, bathing everyone in a dim glow. Neville grinned, nodding at Sue and Hannah in respect even though they couldn't yet see him. _That_ one was a hard counter. They were making brilliant progress.

He crouched down, disillusioning himself and moving carefully across the grass. Six feet away from the small group, he knelt and pressed his wand to the ground, whispering softly. The dirt began to vibrate, grass blades dancing, and a soft wind kicked up around them. He shivered as he felt the warming in his blood, heard the shrill singing of the plants in his mind. The vibrating underground spread, and inside Sue's dome shield, the ground split beneath her as roots sprang up out of the ground and wrapped around first Sue's legs, then Hannah's, before spreading and trapping the boys. Sue let out a shriek as the roots dug harshly into her legs, knocking her to the ground. The shield vanished.

He stood straight and walked over to the pair as Lupin stepped back, sheathing his wand and looking at Neville with a slight grin. Across the field, Neville could see Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Luna coming over to join them, and everybody around them had frozen, staring at the scene.

Neville looked over the plants with a slight smile. A wiggintree had apparently been taking root beneath the grounds, and now it was at least a year ahead of schedule in its growth. He pressed a hand gently to the nearest root, feeling the tree's energy thrumming through it. Another whisper, and the roots retreated from the group, slowly uncurling from around their legs.

Hannah was glaring at him balefully when he turned, and Lupin chuckled lightly under his breath before moving forward to help the girl up. "What did you miss?" Neville asked quietly, and Justin and Ernie just stared at him. Hannah and Sue looked at him, then each other. The two girls stared at each other for a long moment, seeming to communicate silently, before Sue finally shrugged. Hannah nodded, and Sue turned to face Neville.

"Are there shields that can cover the ground, too?" she asked, and Luna hummed in approval. The Hufflepuff witch grinned, her eyes sparkling in the darkness.

Off to his right, Neville saw Harry out of the corner of his eye. His friend was frowning at something, his jaw clenching, and he moved off closer toward the woods. Krum was watching him too, Neville saw, and he jerked his head in the direction Harry had went, raising an eyebrow. The Bulgarian scowled lightly – his default expression, Neville had realized after a couple weeks – and followed.

Whatever had pulled Harry in the direction of the woods, it probably wasn't good, Neville thought worriedly.

"We don't know everything, remember," Hermione said quietly, and a few of the gathered students laughed. Hermione paused, grinning ruefully – it _was_ odd to hear her admit that. Neville shot the girl a grin and she smiled back. "Any one of you can discover helpful spells, or strategies, and share with the rest of us. That said," she grinned again, her eyes sparkling wickedly, "we _do_ know one or two that would work for that situation. Professor Lupin will demonstrate, and we'll help you to get it down."

Lupin shot Hermione a _look_ – he had been trying to get her to call him Remus all summer – and Hermione just shrugged, smiling at him innocently. She moved forward and stood next to Lupin, helping him demonstrate, and Neville tuned them all out. Teaching new spells wasn't his forte, and he was content to fade back into the background.

As their voices washed over him, he knelt back to the ground, studying the plant intently. Elemental magic had been in his family for generations, and Neville had just recently begun to learn the beauty of the art. Oh, it wasn't the dramatic, nature-altering stuff that American and Chinese witches and wizards seemed to brag about. No, it was about harmony, about tapping into the natural rhythm that already existed. Neville didn't think he'd ever been more proud than the moment he had first helped to bring a withering rosebush back from the brink.

It was Professor Sprout who had pointed out that his gift in Herbology was partly from him unconsciously using latent elemental magic to interact with the plants. She had compared it to giving them superfood and a perfect environment. It wouldn't create things that nature didn't already offer, she cautioned, or make him more powerful or unbeatable, but if he would learn to tap into it, he could do amazing things.

On the heels of the misadventure in the Department of Mysteries, where Neville had felt worse than useless, it was exactly the balm he needed. And having Professor Sprout hand him his mother's journal had made it even better.

He sighed lightly as he watched Hermione moving through the groups of students, Luna just a step behind her and Ginny off across the field with Remus, Seamus, and a few others. Hermione had conjured her trademark bluebell flames, the small glass jars floating in the air around the field, the darkness lightened slightly. He watched the shadows play across her face, saw the slight tightness around her eyes, and frowned.

Elemental magic was all about energy, and Neville was more in tune with the energy around him than ever before. And the more he learned, the more he recognized the energy he used to feel without realizing it.

Something was seriously _off_ with Hermione's natural energy. It had been for weeks. He was worried about the vivacious, brilliant girl.

At her shoulder, Luna was staring off dreamily into space – but as Neville watched, her gaze met his and sharpened. She nodded once, jerkily, and Neville set his jaw and nodded back.

It was beyond time they got to the bottom of whatever was harming their friend.

 

* * *

 

Harry stood in the darkness, his eyes narrowed as he gazed out over the forest. The air was chill in the early morning, a slight breeze rustling through the trees. He listened carefully for any sound of footsteps or movement, feeling a strange disquiet when he was met with only silence.

He'd been to the Rookery often enough by now. He knew these woods were teeming with creatures – and it was silent.

At his shoulder, Viktor seemed just as bothered. "Too quiet," the Quidditch star grunted, and Harry nodded, his eyes still moving quickly over their surroundings. Without replying, he drew his wand and moved carefully into the tree-line, his steps slow and cautious. By unspoken agreement, they stayed in darkness, neither of them conjuring a light or a flame. They moved past fallen tree trunks, thorny shrubs, and large rock outcroppings in silence.

A bit ahead, there was a bubbling stream, and the sound of running water cut through the silence. Harry moved towards the stream, his jaw clenched as they passed further into the forest. The only sound, still, aside from the movement of the stream, was the crunching of leaves under their feet.

Something was not right.

Then he reached the clearing ahead and stopped in his tracks. Viktor was swearing roughly at his side as a small, glowing moth flitted into the clearing and landed on Harry's shoulder. The moth buzzed in his ear, and Harry felt hate beginning to grow inside.

The light was beginning to fade from their bodies, but the once-majestic creatures still glowed in the darkness. They were arranged in a circle, legs splayed out and touching. Each one had its throat cut, its eyes wide and unseeing, and the horns were brutally carved from their heads. Harry moved forward into the clearing, kneeling next to a small golden foal that was nestled against its mother's side, its head turned and pressed against her flank. He put a hand gently on the foal's back, hoping against hope to feel a breath.

But… nothing.

Harry bowed his head, tears leaking from his eyes as he sat in the center of the circle. Behind him, he heard a rustling sound, and a brilliant white light filled the clearing as Viktor shot off two Patroni. Soon, careful footsteps sounded behind them, and Harry felt Ginny take his arm, crouching beside him and watching him with worried brown eyes.

Harry shook himself, letting out a weary sigh, and gave Ginny a bracing smile. He shouldn't have been surprised – he was used to the depravity that Voldemort and his followers lived by.

So he squared his shoulders, pushed to his feet, and sheathed his wand, looking out over the darkness.

Charlie stood at the edge of the clearing, Fred next to him, and the usually boisterous pair were unnaturally solemn. "I'll gather some of the Order to help with burial," Fred said quietly, his blue eyes burning with rage, and Harry nodded. He turned away, looking out over the forest.

"Is your mum home alone?" he asked suddenly, and he felt Ginny's hand tighten on his arm. The girl hadn't moved, still crouching next to the foal.

"Did you see – ?" the red-headed girl asked hoarsely, her voice trailing off, and Harry shook his head.

"I haven't had a vision since the beginning of summer," he replied simply. "But they were this close, and the bodies are still warm. We should at least make sure."

Charlie nodded thoughtfully, and Fred scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Percy left and went back to his flat with that new bird of his," he said quietly, "I think Dad was working tonight..."

Harry glanced at Charlie, and the other wizard shook his head with a scowl.

"What about the Diggorys? Do they still live nearby?" he asked, and Ginny bit her lip, nodding.

"Alright," Harry said with another tired sigh. He moved back from the gruesome scene, flinching slightly inside as his boots left silvery footprints on the ground. "Bill isn't going to be back for another day at least, so who is best at wards of the people we can get? We need to tighten everything up here."

"They didn't approach us," Charlie pointed out, "I'd say that means Bill's handiwork is holding up just fine."

"Nothing wrong with a check," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow at the older wizard. "If he were here, he'd insist on it."

Fred nodded, face even paler than normal as he looked down at the ring of unicorns. "I don't think we can reach Moody yet – his house is impossible – but Shack and Lupin are both good enough to double-check for holes, at least. Charlie and I will check the Diggory's place after we alert them."

"Which leaves us to go check on Mum," Ginny said softly, her brown eyes flashing. She reached forward and gently shut the eyes of the nearest baby unicorn, murmuring something under her breath, and Harry held out his hand to pull her to her feet. The girl turned on her heel, her red hair swinging madly as she moved quickly into the woods, and Harry and Viktor exchanged a worried glance, and followed.

Harry was tired of having to see death.

Behind him, the gold moth fluttered off in the direction of the Rookery, buzzing to itself all the while.

 

* * *

 

The sun was just starting to break over the horizon, and Hermione was already exhausted. She stood at the edge of the woods by herself, eyes narrowed for Tonks. She loved Dora, she really did, and she was so grateful to the woman – but she was taking the protectiveness a bit far lately. Honestly, keeping up with her sleeping habits? Sitting in on her medical sessions with Snape?

Heavens forbid she _yawn_ in front of the woman – she might end up locked in her room. So for the time, it was best that she was on her own.

She leaned against an old, gnarled tree, watching as the small group of DA students wandered across the grounds, speaking with each other softly. They had done well that day, all of them putting every ounce of energy into the spells and tactics they were practicing. It was alarming to see how hardened they were becoming. Colin Creevey was no exception. The usually spastic, too-chipper boy was now silent and brooding. Hermione had noticed Hannah, Sue, and Dennis shooting him worried looks more than once.

She made a mental note to talk to Sue about him. Maybe it would be worth looking into some sort of therapist for the group – surely the wizarding world had such a thing?

 _Although… maybe not_ , she thought darkly. If they did, wouldn't someone have made Harry go by now? With everything her best friend had been through, if anyone needed the chance to heal from trauma –

Not that her _other_ best friend didn't have his share now, too. She sighed darkly as she thought of Ron and the last time they had all slept at Bill's place. The group had woken to Ron's bitter laugh about five hours into the night, and when Neville had successfully shaken him awake, Ron had refused to meet any of their eyes for hours. Nor had he even tried to go back to sleep, instead disappearing down to the shoreline with Harry.

Seeing her often silly, often foolish friend so solemn and shaken was rather traumatic in and of itself, really. How awful must it be for _him_?

She wondered how he was doing, out in the wilderness with Moody, doing God only knew what.

And, she realized with a frown, _Harry_. They had been gone for hours, and although Charlie and Fred had returned, Harry, Ginny, and Viktor hadn't.

Maybe she should –

Someone cleared their throat, and Hermione shook herself with a slight frown. She looked up to see Seamus standing in front of her, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. The sandy-haired boy could usually be found with a rakish grin on his face, blowing things up or stirring up trouble in one way or another, but at that moment, he looked rather worried.

"What is it, Seamus?" she asked gently, and the Irishman bit his lip and stared at the ground, flushing slightly.

"It's Dean," he said after a moment, his voice breaking on the name. "He and his mum were supposed to be back from holiday days ago, and he never sent me a message." He looked up, his hazel eyes solemn and determined. "He would have told me if they had changed their plans, Hermione. He would have _told_ me."

A million scenarios flashed through her mind, but Hermione let out a steady breath, closing her eyes then opening them again quickly. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay." She glanced around them for a moment, taking stock. Down by the pathway, she could see Luna standing next to Remus, the ex-Professor jabbing his wand forward as sparks flew in the air before him. Most of their classmates were scattered in groups of two and three around the grounds, but a short distance off, Sue and Hannah were watching them curiously, Hannah's mouth twisted in a slight grimace. She spun on her heel, jumping a foot in the air when she nearly elbowed Neville in the gut.

"Sorry," Neville murmured, grabbing her arms to steady her when she jumped back. She let out a shaky breath, trying to slow her suddenly racing heart, and shook her head, pulling herself from his grasp. Her arms _burned_ where he had touched her, and Hermione swallowed back a gasp.

 _That's new_ , she thought angrily, trying to ignore the look of worry and hurt that flashed across Neville's features as she took another step back.

But her steady friend didn't say anything, just watched her searchingly for a moment, then asked softly, "What's wrong?"

"I was looking for you," she replied, shoving a lock of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. She watched as Neville's eyes seemed to latch on to the movement, and when she frowned, he just smiled at her and shook his head.

"It's Dean," Seamus cut in. "I think he's missing."

"Wasn't he on holiday?" Neville asked.

"They were apparently supposed to be back days ago," Hermione replied, and Seamus's face fell further.

"Yeah," the sandy-haired boy agreed. "And I haven't heard – " He broke off, scowling. Hermione felt a flash of pity for Seamus. This was exactly how she felt about Harry, every single summer before this year. That lingering dread.

"Well," Neville mused, "he definitely would have told you if he changed plans." He glanced at Hermione, his brow furrowed. "Did he ever reply to your owl?"

She shook her head. There were a million different things that could have happened, she knew. They could have had an accident on holiday, and the authorities hadn't notified anyone yet. They could have sent an owl that had gotten lost. They could have…

But Death Eaters had gone after Hannah, after the Patils and the Creevy family and the Corners.

She met Neville's eyes and saw the flash of fear, and the stocky boy nodded sharply. "Right, then," he said evenly, "We should probably go, since we don't want to pull Shack, Tonks and Lupin away and leave the other students without any defense."

"Agreed," Hermione murmured, drawing her wand carefully from its holster. She wrapped one hand around her communication pendant and thought carefully at Luna, smiling as the girl's airy voice sounded an acknowledgement in her mind. She looked at Seamus, who looked startled but determined, and turned to walk to the property boundaries. Behind her, she heard Neville clap the other boy on the shoulder, and the pair followed her down the hill.

God, did she hope they didn't find – She sighed, shook her head, and turned to face Seamus and Neville. 

 

* * *

 

_Karmas_

_Alexandria Governate_

_Egypt_

 

"Christ," Bill muttered tiredly as he pushed through the beaded doorway, rubbing a hand across his face. "Did you make this hard enough to find?"

The olive-skinned man looked up at him from the prayer mat, a sour expression twisting his face. " _No_ ," he replied, shaking his head. "It didn't take _you_ long, did it?"

Bill didn't respond. Standing in the doorway, he looked around the small barren tent. Aside from the mat, only a rickety cot stood against the furthest wall. "You said it was urgent."

Ignoring him, the smaller wizard climbed to his feet and moved to the tent entrance. Bill sighed wearily as he was shoved aside and Louis peered out the entrance, muttering to himself. "Were you followed?" Louis demanded shrilly, and Bill shook his head. Louis scoffed and disappeared out of the tent, his wand in hand.

"Lou, I _took care_ of it already," Bill protested, following his shorter partner back into the sweltering heat.

Louis was standing in the dunes, his eyes narrowed. "Everyone says, Bill Weasley, so easy-going," he muttered, scoffing again, and Bill just looked at him steadily. "Do any of them realize how much you _hate_ to be questioned?"

Bill bit back a retort, taking pains to keep his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Louis was a great friend and an even greater archaeologist, and he had been an irreplaceable partner through many a dig. But when he got in one of his _moods_ , there was no reasoning with him.

So Lou tested defense after defense, and Bill watched quietly as the wards around them shimmered with a light green, then purple, then blue, before finally settling in an alarming shade that reminded him of places he'd rather forget. Louis turned back to him, sheathing his wand and nodding once, before striding dramatically back into the tent.

Bill rolled his eyes and followed.

"Now that we know we are alone," Louis said sharply, "come." He tapped his wand against the cot, and it shimmered and disappeared, a solid wooden door appearing behind it. The door was surrounded by glowing Phoenician runes, and Bill paused in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he studied the glyphs. The message was _incredible_ , a set of characters together arcing out in a spell he'd never seen…

"Lou," he asked slowly, "how did you – "

Lou paused, looking over his shoulder. "I didn't," he said quietly. "I found it. Come."

So Bill stepped through the doorway and felt the wooden frame creak behind him as the room sealed shut.

 _Maybe I should stop opening doors I can't close,_ he thought wryly to himself as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He stood in a small space, dust particles flying through the air and insects skittering across the floor. As he watched, a scarab clambered along the floor, running fearlessly over his boot as it continued on its trek. He turned his head and followed the creatures path as it disappeared down a dark tunnel in the dirt walls. Skeletons littered the floor all around them, some clutching urns or pendants, some curled in on themselves like they had been trying to hide. To his right, the skeletal arms of a woman were wrapped around an infant's bones, forever embracing her child.

"Where are we?" he asked, taking pains to keep his voice steady. He and Louis had been doing this job for a _long_ time, the both of them, but they had never walked into an unknown site without _days_ of preparation at least. For Lou to rush in like this –

"Just come on," Louis replied quietly, "it isn't far."

Bill let out a shaky breath and drew his wand, his jaw set. This time, it was Lou who stood patiently as Bill ran every diagnostic he could think of, his sense of disquiet growing with every negative result.

They were in an abandoned chamber in the middle of the desert, which by the looks of it had been sealed for centuries, and there wasn't a single defensive spell to be found? Nor any non-magical defenses; no strange outlines under the dirt to suggest trapdoors or pits, no javelins hurtling at them from the walls…

But clearly, the people who had died there had suffered because of something.

He took another fortifying breath and moved forward, with each step hoping that he wouldn't suddenly burst into flames. Lou stood near the mouth of one of the tunnels, and every moment of training Bill had ever received told him _not_ to go in there without backup –

Almost as though he could hear him, Louis suddenly grinned. "You have me," he said easily, his normal laissez-faire attitude shining through. "We'll be fine. We don't need a whole crew."

 _Tell that to Jess_. Bill let out a sigh, gritted his teeth, and followed Lou into the tunnel.

 _Sorry, Harry, I'll be a few,_ he thought bitterly.

 

* * *

 

_Thomas Household_

_London, England_

 

Neville stepped through the Floo, eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. Behind him, he felt the air shift as Hermione appeared, then Seamus, and he stepped to the side without a word, allowing them to clear the hearth. A flick of his wand set a shield floating in the air around them, and he watched as Hermione drew a steady breath, raising her wand.

" _Homenum Revelio,"_ she whispered, then paused a moment. She bit her lip, glancing at him and shaking her head. Neville muttered darkly under his breath.

"No one is here," she said aloud for Seamus's benefit, and the Irishman seemed to almost droop.

"Should we – " he started, and his words trailed off as he swallowed harshly.

"Yeah," Neville agreed. "We'll check room by room." His eyes darted around the space and he felt dread building as he took in their surroundings,

"Seamus," Hermione said gently, and the sandy-haired boy looked at her hopefully, "you must know your way around here well. Why don't you go search Dean's room for any signs?"

The boy nodded jerkily and took off for the nearby stairwell, his steps heavy and leaden.

Neville stood perfectly still until the other boy was gone, then let out a shaky breath and lowered his shield. "Fuck," he breathed. Hermione shot him a disapproving look, then nodded.

"Rather empty in here," she agreed, and Neville moved further into the room, his eyes scanning the space for any signs of the people who lived there.

No one could ever accuse his Gran of being a sentimental person. She was strict, utilitarian, emotionless and just downright _harsh_ a lot of the time. But even she had little mementos, trinkets scattered around the Lodge that showed pieces of herself, her family, their lives. This space – it was empty, barren, nothing but furniture.

That didn't fit with the boy Neville knew.

He went into the kitchen, Hermione right behind him, and found much the same. The cabinets had been emptied, the ice chest off, and only a bare kitchen table and chairs stood in the center of the room. No calendar on the wall, no photos, nothing sitting on the counter.

"This isn't right," Hermione murmured. "Even if his mum decided they were going to run – "

"He would have gotten a message out," Neville nodded, and they heard a clattering behind them as Seamus ran back down the stairs.

"Empty," he said, breathless, "everything is gone. Dean's West Ham posters, his mum's shoe collection – all of it. There's nothing but the furniture."

Hermione bit her lip, looking around the kitchen again. "Maybe they had to run in a hurry, Seamus," she said quietly. "Maybe – "

"Something's wrong, and you're just trying to keep me from panicking," the other boy said angrily, and Hermione nodded.

" _So we have to find him_ ," Seamus almost shouted at her, and Neville stepped forward, drawing the other boy's eyes. He could practically feel Hermione roll her eyes as he stepped in between them.

"We will," he said firmly.

Hermione raised her wand as Seamus stared at him, conjuring her silvery otter. "Dora, Shack, we need your help," she whispered to the glowing apparition. "Send everyone home. Luna, stay with Lupin and keep checking the defenses."

Seamus moved over to a kitchen chair and sat down heavily, his head in his hands.

 

* * *

 

_The Broken Pub_

_North Berwick, The Firth of Forth_

_Scotland_

 

Remus stood in the shadows, eyes narrowed as he watched the doors. At least a dozen people had passed into the pub in the last twenty minutes, and he'd seen at least one who bore the Mark.

Not to mention all the werewolves who had sauntered in wearing the leather jackets that labelled them as members of the Lockheed pack. The woman _had_ always had a thing for biker gangs, he thought with bitter amusement. And apparently, she hadn't bothered to change her haunts in over fifteen years.

Wolves as a whole tended to be solitary creatures, but they would bond strongly to some, and when they did, it was near impossible to get them to turn aside. Werewolves were no different, Remus mused to himself as he took another drag off the cigarette, letting out a slow puff of smoke. And if Voldemort managed to turn the heads of any of the packs...

The destruction Greyback had wrought on his own was plenty. He closed his eyes as the image of mangled children rose up in his mind, balling his shaking hand in a fist at his side. Rage spiked in his veins and he opened his eyes quickly, letting out a slow, steadying breath as the amber faded from his irises.

 _Well._ _No reason to delay any longer_.

He put out his cigarette, tossing it into the garbage bin nearby. Taking another steadying breath, he straightened his jacket and shook his head to clear it.

Merlin, he _hated_ acting this way.

But all the wolves understood was dominance.

So he slammed the doors open, striding into the bar with a grim look on his face. As the wolves around him began to stand, growling and glaring, he cut a path through the room. The first wolf he passed grabbed his arm, and Remus spun sharply, his elbow shattering the young man's nose. Another moved towards him, and he shouldered the angry girl aside and went straight to the bar, grinning wickedly at the burly barkeep. With a surge of strength, he reached across and seized the larger man by the throat, dragging him across the counter and pinning him down with one hand. The wolves behind him shot to their feet, moving towards him quickly, and Remus turned his head slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light and his teeth bared. He let out a warning growl and the wolves fell back, some of them still snarling, others watching him warily.

Turning back to the barkeep, who was scratching angrily at Remus's hand as he struggled for breath, Remus smiled genially. "I need to speak with Asena," he said calmly, and he felt the crowd at his back tense.

"Why, Remus, love," a honeyed voice sounded.

Suddenly, scraping chairs echoed through the room, and Remus cocked his head to see all of the wolves settling back into their chairs. He let go of the gasping barkeep roughly, spinning on his heel to look towards the kitchens entrance.

The black-haired beauty stood in the doorway, her amber eyes shining and a soft smile on her face. Asena Lockheed stepped towards him, her eyes fixed on Remus's face, and he forced himself to remain still.

"It's been a long time," she whispered.

 

* * *

 

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

_August 16, 1996_

 

The noise around him was deafening. People were stomping, shouting, clapping their feet all around, and the alley nearly shook under the force of their anger. This, he reflected darkly, might very well be the _last_ place he wanted to be.

The message had come from Viktor not even half an hour before, and Harry hadn't hesitated. Hermione and Nev were still off with Tonks and Shacklebolt – they had returned to the cottage for a few moments the day before to fill him in, then left again – and Ron was still training God knew where with Moody. Harry was getting tired of the leash the Order had been trying to keep him on lately anyway, and so he hadn't bothered to tell any members.

The reality was that somehow, over the past several years, he had replaced Dumbledore as the poster boy for the Light side anyway. Who better than he to deal with this particular problem?

So he wove through the crowd in the alley as the sun began to sink on the horizon, Ginny and Luna to either side. The two girls had unnaturally grim expressions on their faces, Ginny's eyes scanning the crowd around them like a hawk, Luna seeming to – well, _focus_.

Harry didn't want to focus. He didn't like what he was seeing, couldn't stomach what he was hearing.

Someone moved to the side in front of him, and he elbowed quickly into the space, jostling people gently aside until he was able to reach the front of the crowd. He stood on the furthest left end of the ring around the platform, Ginny and Luna quickly sliding into the spots to either side of him again. Someone glared at Ginny and she shot him a poisonous look right back. The fiery girl's temper had burned red-hot since that morning – no matter that they had found her mother safe and sound. He smiled as he heard her mutter darkly to herself.

His smile disappeared when he turned to face the platform, and saw Ludo Bagman gesturing wildly.

"Is that not all he asked of us last time?" Bagman was yelling, and Harry scanned over the crowd, his eyes narrowed as he saw people nodding thoughtfully. He glanced at Ginny and she looked quickly his way, her eyes shadowed as a scowl grew on her face. Luna, on his left, was staring steadily at Bagman, not blinking. Her little glowing moth peeked out from behind her ear, nestled in her hair.

"Is that not all he demands now?" Bagman continued, and the crowd started to shout back, yells of "Yeah" and "that's right" echoing through the space. Harry drew a sharp breath. "If the Muggleborns are rooted out and banished from our society, will we not have peace? I tell you now, if we fail to act, we _deserve_ our suffering! Who among us hasn't lost family in these relentless wars? Who among us hasn't wished for an end?"

The yells grew louder.

"We are being given a chance, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, his voice rising, and Harry felt the air spike around them. Next to him, Ginny was practically vibrating with fury, and Luna's eyes were narrowed on the pompous blond before them. As they watched, Bagman lifted a scroll in the air, his eyes wild. "A chance for peace! All we have to do is send the Muggleborns _home!"_

The crowd grew louder still, and a huge grin split Bagman's face. Harry gritted his teeth and stepped forward, and Ginny reached out, grabbing his arm.

"Harry," she said urgently, and Harry shook his head, pulling his arm gently from her grip. He let out a steady breath then moved to the platform, and Ginny stepped back, watching him warily. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luna scoot into the empty space he'd left behind, lacing one arm through Ginny's. The red-headed girl leaned her head on Luna's shoulder and swallowed.

Around them, the crowd fell eerily silent as Harry reached the edge of the platform. He walked up the steps with Bagman staring at him blankly, everyone else seemingly holding their breath. Harry walked across the platform unhurriedly, stopping when he stood directly before Bagman, looking the older man directly in the eye.

His eyes were unnaturally blank, Harry saw, and he felt a surge of pity. But he squashed it, shaking his head, and raising one hand, he took the scroll from Bagman's hands and tore it to ribbons. Without a word, he tossed the shredded parchment on the ground at Bagman's feet.

Silence echoed through the alley. Still Bagman stared at him.

"You're just a boy," the blond wizard said finally. "You could never hope to understand his power."

"I don't want to," Harry replied sharply. "I have no interest in being like old snakeface, thanks."

The entire crowd gasped, and Harry bit back a grin.

Bagman's face was contorted in a snarl, and he stepped forward, his fists clenched. "You will never defeat –"

 _Silencio_ , Harry thought, and the older man fell silent, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to scream. Harry turned away from the man, smiling softly as he felt a shield spring to life around him. _Thanks,_ he thought towards his friends, and he turned fully to face the crowd, looking at the angry, shocked faces around him.

" _Sonorous,_ " he said quietly, his wand at his throat, then he took a deep breath and began. "Most of you don't know me," he said his voice ringing through the alley. "But I've been fighting for the safety of the Wizarding World since I first stepped into this alley at eleven years old, alone and afraid. A lot of people forget that I was raised a Muggle, that I didn't know I had any magic at all before Hagrid found me on my eleventh birthday and told me the truth."

As he looked out over the crowd, he saw a range of reactions – distrust, apathy, anger, fear, shame – but there wasn't nearly enough of the last. He felt the dread rising in his veins but he shook his head, continuing on.

"The Wizarding World has been an absolute miracle for me," he said, as quietly as he could when his voice was magically booming across the way. "It opened its arms to me and let me know that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't a _freak_ , that there were others like me. I know what it's like to be hated for who you are, to be looked down on for what you can't control."

He took a deep breath, letting it out as he looked at the angriest group, in the center nearest the platform. "And I will never stand for casting people out just because of their birth. If we stoop to that level, _Voldemort wins_ , people, and I will not let him win." The murmurs sprang up in the crowd again, and he watched as some people began to shift thoughtfully, listened as the angriest in the crowd began to shout again.

"Anyone who ever feels unsafe or unwelcome, anyone who thinks they have reason to fear," he continued, raising his voice over the crowd, "you will always have a place with me and my friends! We are fighting back, and we stand for you! We will _always_ stand for you. And anyone who wants to help, you will be welcomed with the Order of the Phoenix and the Defense Association. We will _never_ surrender!"

He turned on his heel and stepped down from the platform, ignoring Bagman, who was still trying to reach for him, ignoring the shouting men in the center, and walked down to his friends. Luna was watching him sadly, Ginny with a vicious grin, and the pair of them flanked him through the alley.

No one got in their way as they moved through the crowd, and no one spoke to them.

"So Bagman is a Death Eater now?" Ginny asked darkly, and Harry shook his head.

"That wasn't Ludo Bagman," Luna said softly, her voice full of sorrow. "Not anymore." She put one hand on Harry's shoulder, Ginny doing the same on his other side, and Harry cast a quick look around them before wrapping his hand around his dragon tooth pendant and muttering the Portkey activation.

Then they landed on the sand outside the Cottage, and everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

Bill let out a sigh of relief the moment his boots touched the sand. It was so quiet, so peaceful at his little cottage.

He reached quickly into his pocket, feeling for the small package and smiled when he found it still there.

He had made it.

The strange crypt that Lou had discovered had probably been one of his least favorite places to explore. The sense of disquiet that echoed through the place was unreal. They had found nothing to explain all the bodies in the entrance – or they thought it was the entrance, rather, how could they really know? But what they _had_ found –

Really, he could almost _kiss_ Louis.

It was the chance they needed, the next step to try to find a solution, and Bill felt like he could finally breathe for the first time in weeks.

Then he looked up at his house, and he felt his heart stop.

It _was_ quiet, he realized – none of the humming of his wards and spells that should have greeted him. None of the small tendrils of magic glimmering in the air.

Everything was down.

He drew his wand and shot off a Patronus, then burst into a run. His boots slipped wildly on the sand and he vaulted over the dunes, hitting his porch with a loud thud. Without pausing to check for traps or curses, he slammed through his front door, skidding to a halt as he took in the scene in his living room.

There was Tonks, slumped in the corner, her eyes closed and her hand curled around her wand. On the couch opposite him sat Ginny, Hermione, Neville and Luna, all of them bound in ropes that seemed to crawl and writhe over them like snakes. A long, braided golden rope stretched across the floor in front of them, and Bill cursed himself when he saw it. The kids were silent, their eyes furious and their mouths drawn, and Ginny met his eyes steadily and nodded as he stared at her. They were unharmed.

He turned his head to the left and saw Klaus Brand sitting in his favorite armchair, the spellcrafter's feet propped up on his ottoman and a lazy smile on his face. He was peeling an apple with a small blade, whistling to himself. Beside him sat Harry, a stoic look on the boy's face, and a larger, sharper knife hovering at his throat, pressed against the skin. As Bill watched, the blade moved closer to Harry's throat, and a trickle of blood appeared.

He felt a searing pain at his own throat, and looked Harry in the eye. The black-haired teen was calm, but furious. Around him was a strange blue dome, a small crystal hovering in the air next to him – another thing Bill had lifted off of Brand's stash.

Brand licked the blade in his hand, humming to himself, then finally looked up. His smile widened, and his eyes sparkled.

"Billy!" he said jovially, as Bill heard the crack of Apparition outside. "I was beginning to think you'd _never_ come home."

Ginny growled behind him, and Brand shot her a glare then turned immediately back to Bill. As he heard the front door bang open, and Charlie swear harshly behind him, Bill met Brand's eyes.

The spellcrafter set the apple down on the end table beside himself, then leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. Staring at Bill, he said with a strange earnestness, "We need to talk."

 

* * *

 

A/N: Reviews are like cheesecake, one of my favorite things.   

Cheers, everyone,   
~*~ALIBI


	9. Into the Valley of Death

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

_August 15, 1996_

 

The sound of heavy footfalls echoed through the cottage as Charlie and someone else – probably his father – stepped into the room. As Bill stood perfectly still, Charlie moved to stand at his shoulder, his eyes trained on Tonks' slumped form. Bill could practically feel the heat radiating off his brother as the dragonkeeper stared at his best friend. A sharp, biting feeling began to rise up in his blood, like the sting of an electrical current.

"Relax," Brand chuckled, grinning toothily at Charlie, and Charlie jerked his head around to glare at the man. "She's just taking a little nap. Only fair, considering she shot me in the back."

"I told her to," Bill said evenly, and Brand turned back to stare intensely at him.

"Really, boy?" Brand replied. "You're gonna tell a  _German_  that 'just following orders' is an excuse? You're smarter than that, Billy."

Bill didn't reply, just quirked an eyebrow. Behind Brand, Harry was steadily staring at his hands, and Bill saw a slight glow start to build around the teen's fingers.

Brand's smile faded as he continued to stare at Bill. "Or you were, before you got all cocky," he continued. Sitting up straight, he looked Bill up and down appraisingly, his eyes latching onto the cut on Bill's neck. As Bill watched, Brand flicked his wand and the knife on Harry's throat moved to the other side, nicking his skin. Charlie and Ginny let out a hiss of anger as blood dripped from Harry's neck.

But Harry was staring at Bill, and Bill just shook his head.

"Funny, that," Brand said quietly, "I cut him – " He moved the knife with another wave of his wand, and the blade flew down and dug into Harry's leg, the tip burrowing into the outside of his thigh. Harry bit his lip to keep from making a sound, and Bill just stared steadily back at Brand.

"You bleed," Brand finished, and with a jerk of his hand, the knife was yanked from Harry's leg, hovering in the air next to the teen.

A heavy silence echoed through the room, and Bill met Brand's gaze unblinkingly, deliberately looking anywhere but Harry. "Why is that, I wonder?" Brand whispered.

"What do you  _want_?" Bill asked, forcing an air of unworried impatience into his voice. His leg was throbbing, which meant Harry's was, and he was sick and tired of seeing the kid hurt. His sister and three other kids were tied up on his couch, trapped behind a ward that would kill anyone crossing without permission. And Tonks – who knew what he had  _really_  done to Tonks?

 _Your fault_ , he thought angrily at himself,  _what were you thinking, bringing him_ _ **here**_?

The fake joviality disappeared from Brand's face. "My possessions back," he said shortly, "my freedom back. And  _her._ She's  _useful_."

Bill's blood ran cold as Brand pointed the paring knife towards tiny little Luna Lovegood, and he chanced a glance at Harry. The boy's hands were clearly glowing now, and Bill could feel ozone building up in the air.

"Out of the question," Arthur cut in behind him, and Bill didn't bother to turn as his father strode fully into the room, coming to stand just on the edge of the golden rope blocking them from the kids.

"It wasn't a question," Brand said sharply, glaring at Bill's father. The kindly man who had raised Bill stared steadily back, and Bill watched as an impassive look stole over his father's face. "Your boy is a little off the reservation, Art. You might want to reel him in before someone gets  _hurt_."

The knife next to Harry jerked in the air on the man's last word.

"You are not taking a child," Arthur replied evenly, and Brand's eyes flashed.

"I wouldn't hurt her!" he said hoarsely. "You know what Pan – "

"I know your obsession with Pan is what drove her to run," Bill's father shot back. "I know the depravities you are capable of. The girl goes nowhere."

Brand stared at him blankly for a moment, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. After a moment of heavy silence, he shrugged, grinning again. "Well, then," Brand said, "I'll deal with you later, Billy. And your boy hero is no matter to me, so – "

"I'll do it," Luna said in her quiet sing-song. "Where will we be going, Mr. Brand?"

"No," Arthur said evenly, and he slipped his wand from his holster, his eyes steady. "The girl stays, and you leave.  _Now_."

Charlie was looking back and forth between their father and Brand, the stocky man's eyes wide. Brand just chuckled.

"You really want to go there, Artie?" he asked quietly. "Last time, you only bested me because you had reinforcements."

Arthur smiled. "I have reinforcements now."

A sudden light flashed through the room, and Harry stood, the blue dome splintering around him and the knife soaring through the air towards Brand. The spellcrafter swore harshly, spinning on his heel and banishing the knife, then turned to Harry. The teen didn't say a word, just lifted his wand and glared at Brand. Behind them, the golden rope began to move, slithering across the ground towards his sister, and Bill growled under his breath. The current in his blood rose, and a buzzing sound began to fill his ears.

He crossed the room in two quick strides and knelt beside the rope, his wand pressed to the ground, and he whispered frantic spells as the golden rope glowed and began to eat away at the wooden floor. Steam curled up from the ground around him, but the rope was unchanged. With a muttered swear, he pressed his palms flat on the edges of the rope, hissing under his breath as his skin immediately blistered. He reached deep inside himself, closed his eyes, and a glowing blue light appeared in the air around him. The light turned into giant sparks, which shot towards the rope and wrapped around it, and –

The walls rattled, the torches flickered, and the rope disappeared.

And Bill had a sudden,  _violent_  headache.

He let out a shaky breath and stood slowly, blue sparks still shooting between his fingers. A wave of his wand vanished the ropes around the kids and he looked at them, Ginny giving him an appraising look, Luna smiling vaguely, Neville's stoic expression –

And Hermione was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock and no small amount of fear.

"Boy," Brand's voice sounded from across the room, and Bill spun on his heel to glare at the man. Charlie had moved to kneel beside Tonks, but Harry and his father stood on either side of the German, wands pointed straight at him. Harry hadn't looked away from the spellcrafter, but Bill's father was looking back and forth between him and Brand, that maddening blank expression still on his face.

And Brand didn't notice either of them, staring at Bill with wide, panicked eyes. "Boy, what have you  _done_?"

Bill met the spellcrafter's terrified, judgmental gaze, and took a single step forward –

" _Stupefy_ ," his father intoned quietly, and Brand slumped, Arthur Weasley moving to catch the man and lower him carefully to the ground. Another wave of his wand and a cage appeared around the man, shackles on his arms and legs. Runes glowed around the braces and Bill looked curiously at the etchings.

"I'll take him," a deep voice echoed from the doorway, and Shacklebolt swept into the room. In the corner, Tonks was getting shakily to her feet, holding tightly to Charlie's arm. A wide gash decorated her forehead, and a colorful bruise was already forming on her neck.

Harry shot Bill a questioning look, then brushed by him to the other teens. The three girls all but threw themselves at him, all of them hugging him frantically. Neville clapped Harry on the shoulder as Bill watched, and after a glance at Mr. Weasley, the stocky teen steered the group out of the room and out of the cottage, heading in the direction of the shore.

His father was staring at him steadily, and Bill turned away as a hint of sadness flashed through the older man's eyes. As Shacklebolt, Charlie, and Tonks gathered up Brand and left, Bill walked over to the mirror that acted as the ward keystone, pressing his wand lightly to the surface and closing his eyes.

He'd deal with all of –  _this_  – later, but for the moment, he needed to get wards back up.

A lot more wards.  _All_  of the wards known to man and magic. How could he have let this happen?

"Bill," his father said quietly behind him, and Bill didn't move. "What were you thinking?"

A muscle ticked in Bill's jaw, and he opened his eyes slowly, staring steadily ahead. Glowing golden runes appeared in the air around him as he slowly and carefully wove wards through the property, an act that his father did  _not_  seem to realize required total concentration.

"I'm serious, Bill," his father continued, and Bill's hand shook slightly. He let out a deep breath and straightened his still aching hand, raising his left palm for balance as he dragged another ward into place. "Why on earth would you  _kidnap_  Brand? What were you thinking?  _Were_  you thinking?"

"I was thinking," Bill shot back, spinning on his heel as his temper snapped, "that he knew things he wasn't telling us, things that would help with the war. I was  _thinking_  that he wasn't going to share any of that information willingly. I was  _thinking_  – "

His father was staring at him steadily, and the older man's gaze dropped down to Bill's hands. Bill glanced down and swore viciously. A couple stray blue sparks were still shooting between his fingertips. He closed his eyes, taking another steadying breath, and flexed his fingers before opening his eyes again, staring down at his hand.

Normal. But he could still feel the current running through him.

"You weren't thinking," his father replied quietly. "You weren't thinking, or you never would have brought him here. You put everyone in danger, Bill. The only reason we were even able to stop Brand was because he was distracted by your  _stunt_."

Bill clenched his jaw, closing his eyes again for a moment. "I needed what he knew."

"You didn't need to do it  _here_ ," his father said sharply, anger flashing across his face. "You didn't need to do it that way, and you didn't need to do it alone. Really, Bill, he wasn't wrong! You are being  _reckless_!"

"I  _did_  something!" Bill shot back angrily. "Somebody had to!"

"So you keep saying," Arthur replied, scowling. "You are an absolute maverick lately, and have been ever since – "

Bill stared at his father steadily as the man visibly calmed himself.

"I don't know what you did to yourself, son," the Weasley patriarch said quietly, "but it wasn't worth it."

"That remains to be seen," Bill said quietly, and he turned his back on the older man, his focus directed at the keystone once more.

Silence echoed through the room, and Bill felt more than heard when his father let out a sad sigh.

"You're brilliant, son, there's no denying that," his father murmured. "Everything you've ever tried to do; you've been gifted at. But the one thing you've never been good at is asking for help. You always think you know best."

Bill's jaw clenched, and he fisted his left hand, pressing it to the wall hard enough to bruise. The torched skin of his hands stung, and spots appeared in his field of vision. And  _Christ_ , his head hurt.

"You're brilliant, and you're talented, and you're compassionate," his father continued. "And what you're trying to do for Harry is admirable. I wish I had a tenth of your talent and nerve. But Bill – that is all going to be meaningless if you don't stop this. You're trying to take on the world alone, and you can't. You're not strong enough, and you don't know enough. Nobody does."

Bill just shook his head.

"You always think you know best, son," his father said quietly. "But can you still learn?"

The sound of soft footsteps echoed through the room, and Bill heard the screen door swing open beside him.

"Hello, Harry," his father said calmly, "did you summon Madam Pomfrey yet for your injuries?"

Bill heard Harry reply quietly, heard the kid's slight embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping again, and leaned his head against the wall with a tired sigh. He opened his eyes slowly, looking in the ward mirror. The cut on his neck had closed already, leaving behind a pencil-thin scar. No doubt, his leg was the same.

Reminders, from magic itself, of his vow. Reminders of what was to come if he failed.

He closed his eyes again, then drew his arm back and slammed his fist into the wall as hard as he could.

 

* * *

 

_Holbeck, Leeds_

_West Yorkshire, England_

_August 16, 1996_

 

"Well," Remus said quietly, "this is disgusting."

Shack snorted, the burly Auror's eyes narrowed as he gazed around the abandoned flat. "Kid's description was pretty spot-on," he agreed, stepping gingerly over what looked to be the ancient remains of a burger on the floor. "And it definitely doesn't look like anyone has been here in years."

The Weasley twins stood just inside the doorway, their noses wrinkled and matching looks of horror on their faces. "So… do we have to go through this?" one asked, and Lupin grinned wryly.

"This is nasty even by our standards," the other twin added.

"Yeah, looks like Charlie's room before – "

"Boys," Shack cut in, and the twins went silent. "Fred, go with Lupin, George, with me."

The Weasleys shot him another mutinous glare for being separated, and Lupin chuckled as the suddenly sullen George Weasley trailed after Shacklebolt, muttering under his breath. Beside him, Fred was shaking his head ruefully, his mouth quirked in a slight smile as his brother disappeared around the corner.

Lupin moved further into the room, his wand out as he stepped carefully into the kitchen area. He slowly cast diagnostic spells around the room, checking for traps or wards before letting out a sigh of relief. Whoever had spelled the place was not all that talented, clearly – any defensive spells had worn away long ago.

"Check everything," he said quietly, and Fred nodded, his face unnaturally serious.

"What are we looking for?"

Lupin sighed tiredly. "You'll know when you see it," he replied dryly.

"Alright," Fred agreed easily, moving across the room and rifling through drawers. They searched in silence for a few moments, Remus wrinkling his nose as he tried to ignore the revolting odors in the room.

Really, his enhanced sense of smell was  _not_  a blessing.

The silence stretched on, and Remus stopped as he realized that Fred wasn't moving. He turned his head and looked at the younger wizard, his brow furrowed in concern. Fred was standing in front of an open cabinet, staring blankly ahead, his hands fisted on the counters.

"Everything alright, Fred?" Lupin asked softly, and the teen swallowed.

"Everything has gone to hell," the younger wizard replied. "Bill and Dad aren't speaking, Charlie is acting  _weird_ , the world is falling apart and I – " Fred shook his head. "I don't know what to  _do_ ," he said hoarsely. "I can't lighten the mood to keep people going, I can't get people's minds off things because we  _have_  to deal with this and I – I'm not a soldier! I don't know what to do."

"You're doing it," Lupin said bracingly, squeezing the boy's shoulder. He felt a stirring of self-hatred deep down – how was he encouraging this poor boy to continue a fight he didn't want? How could he –

"I can't keep Fred calm," the Weasley twin continued, and Lupin bit back a smile as the twin confessed.  _George_ , apparently, muttered under his breath, "Not that I ever really could, but still. Katie hasn't been responding to his owls for a few days, and he thinks – "

"Katie? Katie Bell?" Lupin asked sharply. He remembered the sweet, energetic, spunky teen from his classes. She had been a vivacious young girl… unbidden, the image of those children, mauled in the park in Inverness, sprang into his mind. He shook his head to clear it, focusing back in on George with intense effort.

"Yeah," George said sullenly. "I mean, maybe she's just on holiday or something, but…"

The boy's voice trailed off, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the back of the cabinet. He traced his wand along the back wall, and small sparks shot up. Lupin stepped closer, watching with interest as the Weasley twin performed a revealing spell he'd never seen before. The outline of a door glowed in a soft silver light, and George reached forward and pressed his fingers against the backing.

It melted away under his fingertips, revealing a small hiding place, filled to the brim with books and vials and small little sacks.

"Something like this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Lupin, and Remus stared as the boy reached into the wall and pulled out a small ledger.

"Yes," he agreed dazedly. "Something like this." He gazed at the stacks of vials in the cabinet, some of them potions, some of them the viscous, swirling liquid of memories, and felt suddenly, violently ill.

 

* * *

 

_The Leaky Cauldron_

_Diagon Alley, London_

_August 18, 1996_

 

"Crikey, what a week," Charlie muttered, slumping down in the booth. He wrapped both hands around the frosty mug and brought his mouth down to the lip, sipping tiredly. Across the booth, Shack was watching him with an amused expression, the usually somber Auror rolling his eyes at Charlie's manners.

Next to him, Tonks muttered an agreement from where she had pillowed her face in her arms, leaned fully onto the table and half-asleep.

"At least we actually accomplished something, finally," Em pointed out quietly as Tom placed a serving of fish and chips in front of her. Shack was eyeing the food, one dark hand snaking out to snag a chip, and Em swatted at his hand without even looking. "Finding Rosier's old hideout was an amazing win."

"Not to mention everything recovered when Brand's place was tossed," Shack agreed, and Charlie felt a surge of anger at the man's name.

When his father – which, what the  _fuck_  was going on there – had sent Bill and Harry to see Brand, Charlie had never doubted it was for a good reason. And good came from it, clearly, because the soul leech that had been attached to Harry was destroyed. The poor kid deserved better than to be some dark lord tosser's trash can. But Brand was clearly insane.

 _That's why Dad didn't let him be_ _ **alone**_ _with Harry, I guess_ , he thought calmly, shrugging off his inner thoughts. He turned his attention back to the table.

"Did Bill tell you anything about what he found, Char?" Tonks asked sleepily, not even opening her eyes, and Charlie snorted.

"He mentioned a couple of trade tools that I couldn't possibly remember, but he didn't seem excited about anything," Charlie replied. "Of course, that's probably because – "

His voice trailed off, and the table fell into an awkward silence.

Bill, his genius brother, was being ridiculously stupid. After the scene where Brand was slicing him up by cutting Harry, Hermione "I-Read-Too-Much" Granger had put two and two together and come up with four. Harry knew now that Bill had sworn a vow on his life. Bill was avoiding Harry. Harry was understandably furious.

Charlie wanted to slap them both upside the head.

He missed his dragons, his tent, his whiskey, and his girls. Three months before, he'd had an  _easy_  damn life. How had he let himself get talked  _in_  to all this shit?

"It was a seriously risky move," Em said quietly. "I don't know what he was thinking."

"We were afraid the Ministry was gonna move on Harry, and Dumbledore was being stubborn," Charlie muttered. "It was extreme, yeah, but it worked."

"Yeah, except now if we lose Harry, we lose our best cursebreaker and wardsmaster," Emmeline scowled, dipping her chips in ranch. Tonks sat up and watched, wrinkling her nose, then snagged a chip from the plate. Em glanced at her, but didn't say a word, and Shack scowled.

"If we lose Harry, we're fucked anyway," Tonks said sourly. "Besides, he's a good kid. He deserves someone looking out for him."

 _Yeah_ , Charlie thought darkly,  _but it's my brother's head on the chopping block._

Shack cleared his throat, and the two witches turned to look at him. "Lupin has been going through the vials that he and George found, and he's been able to ID a few new Death Eaters. Four of them are dead, but two are still alive. He's going to put in an anonymous tip for us to check out."

"Who?" Tonks asked, her eyes flashing and her hair going a deep blood red.

"Amycus and Alecto Carrow," Shack replied. His teeth flashed a brilliant white as he grinned.

"Weren't they suspected of working with Rookwood?" Em asked interestedly, and Tonks nodded.

"Never could prove a thing," she muttered.

Rookwood. Once upon a time, the guy was his dad's best friend. Charlie scowled again as the thought crossed his mind. His dad, his sweet, bumbling, cheerful dad, best friends with an Unspeakable who turned out to be a Death Eater, apparently having worked with the psycho known as Klaus Brand…

Nothing made sense anymore. He missed his dragons.  _Leave_ , a voice echoed in his mind.

"I want to go back," he muttered, and Tonks looked at him sharply as Em and Shack frowned at him.

"Sorry, what?" Em asked, and Charlie shook his head. He set his barely touched pint down on the tabletop with a  _thud_  and pushed to his feet. Tonks slid out of the booth immediately to let him pass.

"I'm gonna turn in early tonight," Charlie said quietly. "A lot to do tomorrow."

"Me too," Tonks added quickly, "I should go grab the girls and head home."

"Yeah," Shack chuckled, "they're probably sick of being babysat by Viktor."

"I bet Ginny isn't," Em said with a grin, and Charlie looked at her sharply. Em winked at him, and he shook his head with disgust.

"Night, guys," Tonks said laughingly, and she wrapped her hand around the crook of Charlie's arm and steered him from the pub.

It was pitch-black already, and the air was cool enough that he wished he had his cloak. Tonks shivered in the cold and frowned up at him as they walked down the alley aimlessly.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

 _Don't answer her_.

"I don't know," he said after a moment, frowning. He stopped walking, pressed the palm of his hand to his eyes. "Crikey, I have a headache."

He opened his eyes and found Tonks staring at him, her brow furrowed and biting anxiously at her lip. "Charlie, what – "

 _Dammit, I'm fine_! He grimaced, shaking his head to clear it, and let out a sigh as the world seemed to focus again. "I'm okay, just tired." He smiled at Tonks reassuringly, then wrapped his arm around her and proceeded to drag her to the ice cream shop, laughing when she swore at him.

But the eerie sense of detachment didn't leave him, and Charlie shivered. His father's voice echoed in his mind.  _Wake up, Charlie_.

 _I'm FINE_ , Charlie thought angrily, and he shook his head and bought his gorgeous best friend the biggest ice cream cone ever made.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

Harry Potter was pissed right the bloody hell off.

He scoffed angrily, shoving the tome away with a scowl as he sprang up from the chair by his desk. He couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand hours and hours of sitting there, poring over ancient bloody books written in Parseltongue,  _hiding_ , while everyone else was –

He threw himself down on his bed and shoved his hands into his hair, groaning.

His old temper was flaring up, badly, and he knew it. Hermione had taken one look at his steadily darkening expression and immediately declared she had to go help Viktor with some project. Ginny had rolled her eyes, told Harry he was being stupid, and huffed all the way to the fireplace, then Floo'd off to the Burrow. Even Luna had lost patience with him eventually, leaving him to his own devices over three hours before and going down to the living room to read alone.

Tonks had come to pick Hermione and Luna up an hour before, and Luna had run up, pecked him on the cheek, and left without a word. Hermione hadn't even come upstairs.

Harry sighed. He needed to calm the bloody hell down. But at least the walls hadn't rattled. No breakables had shattered. His control was better than it used to be.

Unlike…

A knock sounded on his door, and Harry looked up as Bill pushed the door open cautiously, with none of his usual easy confidence. The eldest Weasley son looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his hair hanging a bit lank, his clothes rumpled. He seemed hesitant, his eyes shadowed, and he stood there for a moment looking at Harry silently.

This was  _not_  the man Harry had gotten used to.

"So… can we talk?" Bill asked quietly, and Harry snorted.

"Oh, you're talking to me now?" he said harshly, and he sighed when Bill actually  _flinched_.

"I deserve that," the cursebreaker said quietly, moving to sit at Harry's desk chair. The older man looked at him searchingly, then looked away, and Harry sighed again.

"I thought I should give you some space," Bill said haltingly after a moment of silence. "I know how you feel about other people being in harm's way, and I thought that  _you_  might think I didn't care how – "

"What I thought," Harry cut in, "was that you were the one adult in my life that wasn't  _lying_  to me."

Bill flinched again, then scrubbed a hand across his face. He fiddled with the dragon tooth earring, eyes fixed on some random point on the wall.

"Why?" Harry asked, "why on earth would you do that? You know I'm – why would you tie your life to  _mine_?"

Bill shrugged. "Dumbledore didn't trust my intentions," he said quietly. "Nothing was going to convince him, short of him believing my life was on the line if I didn't take care of you. Seemed like the thing to do was exactly that."

"Well, it wasn't," Harry said sharply, and Bill turned his head and finally looked straight at the teen. Harry shrank back a bit at the anger in Bill's eyes.

"I disagree," the cursebreaker said coolly. "It was what was needed. I'd do it again."

Harry stared at the man. "But now, when I die – "

" _If_ ," Bill cut him off, then grinned at Harry. "If you die. We'll just have to find a way to win without dying, kid."

Harry shook his head. "You're mad."

"What, are you telling me you don't want to live?" Bill said immediately. "Defy the odds, Harry. It's  _fun_." And the normal glint of mischief came back into the cursebreaker's eyes.

Harry looked at his guardian with a frown, then shook his head again, smiling ruefully. "What about Fleur?" he asked softly, and Bill grimaced. "Does she know?"

"She was there," Bill replied.

"When?" Harry asked. "I mean, how long – "

The older man frowned, looking away again. "I did it during the last Order meeting. Right after I sent you home."

"So the whole Inner Circle of the Order knew," Harry muttered.

"Yes."

 _And none of them told me_ , Harry thought bitterly.  _Figures._ "So now, every time I go into a fight, I could be killing you. I've had enough of people dying for me, Bill."

The wall clock chimed midnight as Bill laughed hollowly. "Harry, I could die every time I step onto a dig site. I could die every time I go to build or dismantle a set of wards. Hell, the times we live in, I could die just stepping into Diagon Alley. Besides, I was never gonna just let you fight alone anyway. You might not have noticed this, but I've been walking into battles of my own accord." He shook his head, his long hair half-hiding his face. "You can't worry about me, kid. That's not your job – you do whatever you need to do, and the rest will sort itself out."

"I can't  _not_  think about it," Harry said tersely, dropping his head into his hands with a defeated sigh.

"Which is why I wasn't going to tell you," Bill said easily, and Harry peered up at him and glared. The man grinned back. Turning to face the desk, Bill asked curiously, "Any progress?"

Harry shook his head but went along with the change of subject. Pushing up to his feet, he walked over to stand beside the cursebreaker, glaring down at the Slytherin tome. "The books were mostly the same throughout. One was all maps, one potions, one spells. One of them had a bunch of old theories that Hermione went nuts over. I didn't understand a word of it."

Bill chuckled.

"This one, though – it's pure gibberish, as far as I can tell," Harry said with frustration, turning one of the pages absently.

Bill sat back in the seat and frowned thoughtfully, looking down at the book. "That's probably a disguise to hide something," he said quietly.

"That's what Hermione said," Harry nodded, "but if it is, we haven't been able to figure out how to break it yet."

He rubbed absently at his neck, frowning at the sting as he turned his head, and Bill's eyes narrowed on his throat.

"You didn't heal that," his guardian said quietly, and Harry shrugged.

"I wanted the reminder," he replied, and Bill stared at him steadily. The cut had mostly scabbed over, but there was one spot which just hadn't closed. Blood welled up again on the surface of the cut, and Harry swiped at it impatiently.

"That wasn't your fault, kid," Bill murmured. "It was mine. You never should have been in that position. This was supposed to be a haven, and I brought a threat into it."

"He got the better of me too easily," Harry disagreed, shaking his head. "I need to remember. Besides…" Harry's eyes narrowed as he stared at Bill. "Why  _did_  you kidnap him, anyway?"

Bill sighed, sitting up straighter in the chair, and Harry perched on the edge of the desk, watching the older man warily. "I wanted to make sure I knew exactly what they had done to you," he replied slowly. "I've tried, but Dad won't tell me, and I couldn't bring myself to torture my own father if that was what it took to get the truth."

Harry stared.

"But also," Bill shook his head, pushing up from the chair and pacing across the room. "Brand is one of the foremost experts in the world on certain types of ancient magic. He's forgotten more in that arena than most people have ever known. And he didn't seem interested in sharing much, from what little I was able to find out in Germany."

That explained why Bill had been so friendly towards the man at first, Harry thought ruefully.

"Even with Legilimency, I couldn't get much information out of him," Bill continued. "Not without being able to completely control the situation. So… I took control of the situation. I managed to trap him in my workshop, and I took what I needed."

"What?" Harry asked worriedly, staring at the older man. "What did you steal?"

"His memories," Bill said shortly, and Harry went cold.

"Of what?"

Bill stopped pacing and turned his head to glance at Harry. "Everything."

Harry lost his balance, nearly slipping on the desk. He barely caught himself, grabbing onto the edge of the desk and wrapping his hand around the wrinkled parchment of the tome behind him. "What?"

"It was necessary," Bill bit off tersely, and Harry shook his head. "He's not a friend, Harry, he's the enemy."

"Bill, that is  _wrong_ ," Harry said urgently, and Bill shot him a dark look.

"He had a knife to your throat the other day, and my sister and most of your friends trapped behind a deadly ward," Bill shot back. "And yeah, with the procedure, he did exactly what Dad said; there was no sign he did anything to deliberately harm you or tamper with things. But Harry, he  _reveled_  in your pain. He enjoyed every second of it," the eldest Weasley son said angrily, his face twisting in a dark expression. Harry felt a strong disquiet. "He is a sick, twisted fuck, and he does not deserve your sympathy."

Harry just stared at the man, shaking his head. "You're colder than I thought you were," he said calmly, and Bill's mouth quirked in a rueful grin.

"I'm going to have to be," Bill replied matter-of-factly, and the disquiet in Harry grew.

But Bill wasn't looking at him anymore – he was looking past Harry, staring at the desk. The cursebreaker moved quickly across the room, his eyes narrowed, and Harry shot up from the desk, spinning around to stare at the book.

There was a smudge of blood on the edge of the open page, where Harry had touched the book after wiping blood from his neck. As Harry watched, the blood rose up on the page, pooling together, then slid across the parchment and trailed over the characters on the page. The characters glowed then shifted, sliding across the parchment and rearranging, and Harry smiled.

"Well, I'll be damned," Bill muttered.

Harry reached for his communicator charm and called to Hermione. The sleepy voice of his best friend replied almost immediately.  _I've got it_ , Harry told her.  _Get over here_.

 

* * *

 

_Hirta Island, St. Kilna_

_Outer Hebrides, Scotland_

_August 21, 1996_

 

"Blimey, it's bloody stuffy back here," Ron muttered, and Harry grunted in agreement. But no matter how stuffy the air, looking around himself, Harry felt a slight chill.

Ron had finally returned from his training with Moody the night before and had immediately come to the cottage. The pair stood on an overgrown trail in the woods, a few miles from the dilapidated ruins of abandoned stone cottages. Ahead, Neville walked with Ginny and Luna on either side, all three of them with their wands out. A short distance behind them, Hermione was hanging back with Shacklebolt and Lupin, their ex-professor gesturing emphatically as Hermione and Shack listened.

Bill was moving steadily through the underbrush ahead of them all, some weird little creature that almost looked like a yeti at his side. Or, it would have looked like a yeti, if it wasn't glowing. The not-yeti was pushing aside the largest of the branches and stones in the path, clearing the way for Bill so he didn't need to take his attention away from watching for traps. A strange circle with tentacle-like arms followed Bill's steps, surrounding his feet, and Harry looked down at his own, green-tentacled circle with a frown. All of them had one, all different colors. 

All  _creepy_. 

He wasn't sure what on earth this spell was, but he didn't like it.

"It doesn't seem like anyone has been here for a long time," Harry replied finally, glancing back over his shoulder. Hermione had stopped at a bend in the path and was staring avidly through a gap in the trees, Lupin hovering at her shoulder and Shack moving forward to investigate.

"That's good, though, right?" Neville said suddenly, and Harry started as he looked up – he hadn't noticed the other boy had fallen back to join them. Further up the trail Ginny was frowning back at them as she and Luna stood waiting. "Means Voldemort probably hasn't found this place."

"Or he's covered his tracks," Ron said grimly, his mouth set in a thin line. The redhead raised one arm and rubbed at the back of his neck with a sigh, and Harry eyed him nervously.

His best friend had come back from his week's training with Moody more changed than a week should have done, and Harry was worried. And it wasn't just the obvious physical changes – Ron had gotten more muscled – but his attitude had hardened in a way that made Harry scared for his friend.

"More likely," Harry agreed with a sigh, turning his thoughts back to the conversation. He glanced up the trail again and saw that Bill had stopped, standing before a large copse of trees, his head tilted back as he stared up at something. The not-yeti had stilled beside him, and both seemed to just be waiting.

Harry looked back over his shoulder as another chill ran through him. Shack had come back from his detour off the path, meeting Hermione and Lupin with a shake of his head, and the three had started forward to join the rest of the group. He stared off down the path behind them, his mind racing.

The island where they stood had been inhabited for over 2,000 years, or so they had learned, before being abandoned back in the 30s. On the furthest end, there was a Muggle military outpost, but aside from a minimal staff, there was no human life on this island. Bill, Lupin and Shacklebolt had cast every spell they could think of for detection, and everything confirmed they were alone.

But Harry could swear he felt something watching them.

"What the bloody hell is he  _doing_?" Ron muttered darkly, and Harry turned back to see his best friend frowning at his oldest brother.

Bill had stepped back, dropping something small on the ground at his feet, and conjured a glowing blue ward that looked almost like a giant sheet of diamond. The light that reached through the trees seemed to  _stop_  at the ward, and the space behind was pitch black. Somebody brushed by Harry, and he glanced to his right to see Shacklebolt moving forward quickly, his eyes narrowed on the open, seemingly empty space.

As he watched, Bill raised his hands in the air and, as Shack reached his side, a loud crack rent the air, like thunder without a storm. The object on the ground glowed a brilliant blue, and a blinding light shot up from the item, colliding with the diamond-like ward. The ground shook beneath their feet, and Lupin grabbed Hermione's arm to steady her as the girl stumbled. Harry reached out without thinking, taking the girl's hand and squeezing it gently, but he stared at the scene ahead of them without blinking.

The light spread across the surface of the ward. It flickered once, twice, then vanished, another crack sounding in the air.

And ahead, the forest seemed to shimmer, then some of the trees  _disappeared_ , and a crumbling stone road appeared, winding off into the darkness. It was dotted here and there with small stone pillars, some of them plain, some of them carved in elaborate figures.

There were, Harry noticed, more than a couple snakes in the mix.

Bill and Shacklebolt exchanged a grim look, and Lupin stepped forward to join them.

"Well," Lupin said quietly as Harry and the others caught up, "this definitely suggests we're on the right track."

"Or the very, very wrong one," Shack said grimly, his dark eyes narrowed as he stared down the path.

Neville snorted, and Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had stepped forward to stand between the two boys, looked at each other for a long moment. After a second, Ron grinned, Harry shrugged, and Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Okay then," Harry said with a scowl, "let's test this theory."

"Remember, only if the guardian seems to be coming after someone," Bill warned him, and Harry nodded sharply. Bill pulled his hair back in a rough ponytail and narrowed his eyes down the pathway. "Everyone get ready. This could be nothing, or it could be _really_  dramatic."

One step behind Harry, Ron and Hermione fell in place to either side of him and drew their wands, scowling. Shack and Lupin fell back, Lupin standing at the back of the group, Shack right beside Neville.

"Here's hoping for nothing," Bill quipped, and he stepped forward onto the road.

Immediately, the ground shook, and a giant ghostly basilisk appeared floating before him, hissing angrily. Harry heard Ginny shriek and he darted forward.

"You  _dare_?" the shimmering basilisk hissed, moving through the air towards Bill, and behind it, another half-dozen smaller apparitions came out of the pillars. "You dare awaken me?"

Harry jumped onto the road, Hermione and Ron at his heels, and skidded to a halt as the largest basilisk began to dive downwards –

" _Stop!_ " he hissed in an almost-scream, and the apparitions froze.

Slowly, the shimmering basilisk spun in the air, turning until it was facing Harry. Harry swallowed nervously –  _could this thing kill or petrify?_  he thought frantically…

But he was still standing.

"A Speaker," the basilisk hissed with a tone that almost sounded like confusion. "There has not been a Speaker here since – "

The apparition trailed off, hovering in the air before Harry. "You are welcome here, Speaker," the basilisk hissed. "Your companions, however – "

"They're with me," Harry hissed back forcefully, and the basilisk drew back slightly.

"The two littlest witches feel familiar," the basilisk hissed back, "but not the one who woke me. His  _treachery_  – "

Here, the basilisk spun to glare at Bill again, and the cursebreaker just quirked an eyebrow.

"They are with  _me_ ," Harry said sternly. "Allow them safe passage any time they wish to come here. Stop anyone who tries to harm them."

"Is that a command, Little Speaker?" the basilisk asked with what seemed like amusement.

"Yes," Harry hissed back, and the basilisk nodded imperially, drawing back from Bill.

"As you command, Little Speaker. Well met." And the basilisk vanished in a glimmer of light, the others melting back into the pillars.

Harry stood perfectly still for a moment as everyone stared. Finally, after a moment, Ron moved, stepping forward onto the crumbling road. The others let out sighs of relief when nothing happened.

"You know," Bill said, "I don't think it liked me." The not-yeti by his side wagged its tail.

Harry just glared at the older man. "What would have happened if it had touched you?" he demanded.

Bill grinned. "Might have tickled a bit," he replied, and Ron and Ginny both choked back a laugh. Bill clapped Harry on the shoulder and turned on his heel, moving jauntily down the path. "Come on!" he called back to the rest of the group. "Let's see what we see!"

Harry and Hermione exchanged an incredulous look as Ron and Ginny immediately followed their brother, the others trailing behind. Hermione – who, he realized, had grabbed his hand again at some point in the confusion – squeezed his hand lightly and shook her head, and they set off after their friends.

 

* * *

 

_The White Wyvern_

_London, England_

 

"I can't imagine the suffering," Lucius Malfoy chuckled, his snifter of brandy dangling from his fingers as he leaned back in the armchair. "Staff meetings with Dumbledore  _and_  Sprout, how have you survived it all these years?"

Snape smirked slightly, raising his glass to his lips as he stared absently at the flames dancing across the hearth. "I have a powerful imagination," he said dryly, quirking one eyebrow as he shot a look at his old friend.

"Oh, now  _that_  I can believe," Malfoy chortled, his eyes dancing. "Still, the pain must be intense."

Snape just scoffed, shaking his head. "My friend, you are too soft."

"We both know that isn't true," Malfoy said slyly, his free hand wrapping around his cane. "You speak from envy that you can't join in the festivities tonight."

Snape grunted. Really, the man never knew when to shut up. "Just do a couple for me, would you?"

Malfoy grinned ferally. "With pleasure." The elegant man set his glass down on the side table, straightening his robes as he stood. "Narcissa is on the continent, and I would like some sport. I'm going to go hunting in Knockturn, find something to take the edge off – care to join me?"

Snape shook his head, his face impassive. He slammed back the whiskey in his glass and set the tumbler down with a sharp  _thud_. "I prefer a different kind of hunting," he said smoothly. In his mind, two sets of eyes flashed – vastly different in appearance, and yet so similar in what those eyes held. He drew a sharp breath as he felt himself stir.

Malfoy's lips twisted in a grimace as he looked down at the other man. "Old friend, your idea of  _hunting_  is too much even for me," the aristocrat murmured. Snape smirked as Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, if you're certain…"

The other man paused a moment, and Snape inclined his head. With a sharp nod back, Malfoy tossed a handful of coins on the table and swept out of the tavern.

Snape sat there silently for a moment, staring into the flames as he breathed slowly, carefully, trying to maintain control. After a short time, he placed a single gold coin on the edge of his chair and stood, striding quickly from the building. He turned a corner and slipped into the alley behind the tavern, Disapparating almost immediately.

The street on which he reappeared was quiet in the darkness, the glow of lampposts the only light to be found. He did a quick, cursory check of his surroundings, then set off down the street, quickly mounting the steps of a quaint little brownstone. Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door swung open.

"Professor!" Emma Granger exclaimed, a friendly smile on her face. "We weren't expecting you for another week."

Severus smiled.

 

* * *

 

_The Atrium_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

_August 22, 1996_

 

Arthur was, to put it simply, exhausted.

It was just gone midnight, and he was finally on his way home to Molly. Another long day of juggling had driven him nearly six feet under, and he simply…

His wife, ever-tolerant and ever-forgiving, kept asking him why he was at work so much. His eldest son no longer trusted him and was behaving foolishly at best. His youngest two were on the front lines of a war, and truthfully, all his kids but Percy were mixed up in the mess. And he –

He wasn't sure how much longer he could withstand the life he was living. Twenty-five years was a long time to keep a secret.

Maybe he really  _should_  tell Bill. Of all his children, he thought Bill, and maybe Ron, would be the ones to understand. Although…  _Bill_. He had been trying, had been using every resource and contact he had, as discretely as possible… and still, he could not figure out what his eldest had  _done_  to himself.

He stopped in his tracks, scrubbing a hand over his face as spots swam before his eyes.  _Pushing yourself too hard, old boy_ , he thought derisively, and he shook his head to clear it before opening his eyes again.

And a strange glimmer from the nearest fireplace caught his eye.

Arthur turned slowly, gazing steadily at the Floo hub. The nature of his  _true_  job meant that he was well-versed in every spell, every protection that ran through the Ministry. Every change, he was made aware of, and every update ran through him and his team before being put into motion.

And the spells on the fireplace were  _wrong_.

He glanced quickly up and down the Atrium, a chill running down his spine. Even at this late hour, at least a dozen people were bustling about. The lifts were still sounding behind him, and he knew with certainty there were people on at least four different floors.

Then the nearest fireplace activated of its own accord, the flames glowing a brilliant green, and Arthur raised his wand to his throat. " _Sonorous,"_  he whispered, then shouted, "Shields!"

He snapped a shield around himself as all the Floos activated, and a few feet away, two startled wizards and one angry looking witch did the same. The others in the Atrium had skidded to a halt, staring in confusion. Arthur sighed tiredly, snapping off a Patronus to the check-in wizard.  _Activate Protocol 37_ , he sent, and within minutes, he felt the defensive wards snapping into place around the building. The floors shook and the lights flickered then died, and the lift clattered to a halt behind him.

Arthur felt himself go cold. The lights weren't supposed to be out. That wasn't part of Protocol.

And then the nearest Floo stilled, and the dead poured into the Atrium.

Arthur felt a thrill of fear as he stared at the snarling, clawing, biting things. They stumbled and piled up as they fell out of the Floo, climbing over each other in their haste to reach a living target. With a muttered swear, he shook himself and conjured jet of fire, flinging the flames into the rush of Inferi. He saw the angry witch nearby get overtaken, falling to the floor and screaming wetly as the creatures mauled her alive, and swallowed back bile as he continued to shoot flames towards the oncoming monsters.

As his mind screamed in horror, Arthur backed away a few steps, eyes on the mass of creatures, and managed to reach the edge of the room. He slapped his palm onto the keystone and whispered the activation, and instantly, rows of flames sprang up from the floor throughout the room, and Inferi screamed hauntingly as they burned alive.

But there were too many, and they were still coming, and a quick check of the room showed everyone else was already down.

For all their vaunted protections, all their careful planning – thirty seconds and the Ministry had been overrun. There had been no plan for  _this_.

Flames flickering in his eyes, Arthur spun on his heel in the darkness, racing for the lift. He keyed in his override with a shaking hand as he heard the creatures scrambling along the marble behind him, and flung himself into the lift, the grate closing just in time. The dead howled in frustration, some of them reaching their arms through the bars, and Arthur leaned back against the furthest wall, steadily staring them down. The ones with limbs reaching for him shrieked as the lift plummeted, slicing off their arms, and Arthur shot a ball of flames at the writing limbs as they landed on the floor of the lift, scrabbling towards him of their own accord. The severed arms went still in the flames, turning to ash almost instantly, and as Arthur heard the  _thud_  of creatures landing on the roof of the lift, he keyed in the floor for the Department of Mysteries.

The Ministry proper might have been lost, but he'd be damned if Voldemort would get everything.

The lift screeched to a halt, and Arthur's heart thudded in his throat as he heard the snarling grow louder. Ahead, he could see shadows moving in the darkness. Somehow, the things had reached the other floors.

There was nothing for it, then. He had sworn never to use that spell again – and the destruction wrought on Privet Drive had just solidified that. But it was that or…

He slammed the lift grate open, searing flames shooting from his wand and springing down the hall as fiery dragons, chimaeras, and all manner of beasts galloped from the center of the flames. The air around him was scorching and he could hardly breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire as he darted to the side and raced down the hall, ducking and dodging past the arms reaching for him, flames right on his heels and overtaking the hallway. The screams of the Inferi split the air and he shivered at the horror, slamming through the doors into the Department of Mysteries.

Hi mind rebelled at the truth, but he couldn't save everything, and so he went straight for room eleven, his hand shaking as he pressed on the activation panel, and behind him, he heard the main door give way, heard the scrambling of the dead –

The panel slid aside and the door swung open, and Arthur jumped through and slammed the stone door behind himself. A sickening crunch sounded, and a single rotted finger fell to the ground at his feet. He let out a shaky breath and pressed his wand to the door, activating every defense the room held, and ran for the shelves, conjuring a huge burlap bag and sweeping everything into the bag as his hands shook. One talisman fell to the ground, its jewel chipping on the stone floor, and Arthur swore angrily as the echoes of a long-dead enchantress sounded in the room. He shot a silencing spell at the talisman, carefully levitating it into the bag, and cast one last, frantic look around the room as the door began to shake and buckle behind him.

And there – on the wall nearest the door. The one thing he  _couldn't_  leave.

Arthur drew a steadying breath as the door shook again, and dove across the room, snatching the small, nondescript box from the shelf and throwing it into the bag. A sonic boom sounded as the wards collapsed, and he reached up with shaking hands and pressed a finger to his tie pin. As the door finally gave way, and the dead came rushing in, he whispered " _Portus_."

The snarling creatures surged towards him, and one managed to wrap a skeletal hand around his arm, but he shook the creature off just as he was pulled away, thrown through time and space as his stomach heaved and his mind whirled. He landed on the sand, his knees buckling, and cried out as the burns along his body screamed to life against the coarse ground. Through bleary eyes, he saw someone running, a shadowy figure making its way across the dunes, and he looked up, only to drop his head as the effort of supporting it became too much.

"Dad?" Bill whispered, his voice choked with horror and fear, and Arthur fell the rest of the way to the ground.

Dimly, he heard Bill ordering Harry back to the cottage, and everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

_Minister's Manor_

_London, England_

 

Cornelius Fudge stood in the window, staring out at the wreckage of Diagon Alley. The Ministry was still burning, flames shooting up into the sky in the form of dragons, snakes, chimaeras, and all along the Alley, the dead ambled up and down the street, snatching anyone foolish enough to be outside.

He shuddered as he stared out the window, looking down at the destruction. Beside him, Rufus Scrimgeour stood stiff as a board, his tawny eyes narrowed with hate.

Rufus didn't know how the Minister had known there was a threat, but he was never going to forget that the man had run, rather than do something.

He was certain he stood next to his enemy.

Below, the flames spread to Ollivander's shop. Rufus felt sick.

On his other side, Pius Thicknesse was doing a great impression of sorrow, the man's wide-eyed stare all but dripping with horror and compassion. Rufus snorted mentally, never bothering to glance the other man's direction. He'd taken Thicknesse's measure already, had seen the kind of man the other wizard was.

He just wasn't sure yet what he could do about it.

But Rufus was a simple man – calculating, yes, determined, yes, but still simple. And he believed there was always something that could be done.

"How did you know?" Fudge asked shakily, and Thicknesse let out a slow breath before he replied, his voice weary.

"A reliable informant," he said quietly, and Rufus quirked a brow at the man as he shook his head. "He told me only that there was to be an attempt – I had no idea the magnitude…"

"Of course you didn't," Fudge said bracingly, and Rufus snorted aloud this time.

"The positive is that at least, with you safe, you can rebuild," Thicknesse said earnestly.

Rufus stepped back from the window, a cold dread filling his bones. As he turned away, he heard Fudge say, "I think my Deputy was working late tonight. They probably…"

 _And that was the end game,_  he thought wearily.  _Eliminate the Ministry building, all its defenses and take all its resources. And at the same time, get someone in power._

He walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

Rufus wasn't sure exactly where he was going yet, but even the Inferi-overrun streets were better than staying in that room.

Maybe Shacklebolt or Bones would know something.  _Definitely_ Weasley. 

Rufus let out a shaky breath, walked out of the building, and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

A heavy silence surrounded them as they sat on the sands.

Harry sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. To his right, Ginny lay with her head pillowed on Ron's knee, her brother rubbing her back every so often as she sobbed. They had gotten confirmation an hour before that Percy had been in the Ministry when it was overrun, and he hadn't escaped.

On Harry's left, Neville sat back to back with Luna, the pair of them drawing absently in the sand. Hermione was standing along the shore a few feet away, her posture stiff and her head bowed.

He didn't know how to help any of them, and he felt absolutely helpless. 

Behind them, the cottage was lit up against the early morning hours. There were more people in the cottage than Harry had seen in all his time living there. From the moment Arthur Weasley had appeared on the shore, all had gone to chaos. He closed his eyes as the image of the kindly man, his flesh torn and charred, appeared in his mind.

Bill had sprung into action immediately, sending Harry to go summon Pomfrey and Dumbledore as he gathered up his father and the rucksack he was clinging to for dear life. The sack had disappeared – probably under lock and key in his workshop – and as far as Harry knew, no mention of it had been made to Dumbledore.

And for all their differences lately, Bill hadn't left his father's bedside as Pomfrey hovered around him, casting spell after spell to stabilize the man. They weren't sure how he had done it, but somehow, he had burned himself externally, overloaded his magical core, and burned or singed every single one of his internal organs.

At the moment, they weren't sure if he was going to pull through. Harry felt numb thinking about it. He'd never been especially close with the Weasley patriarch, but the man had invited Harry into his home and his family without a second thought. He couldn't imagine a world without the man's steady influence.

A shout sounded from the house behind them, and Ginny tensed. Harry and Ron exchanged a quick look and Ron gently wrapped his hands around Ginny's shoulders, shifting her up. Neville moved immediately, putting an arm around the tiny redhead, and scooted her over until she was leaning into him. The girl never opened her eyes, just collapsed again, still crying.

Harry pushed himself up onto his feet as Ron rose smoothly, and Luna watched them sadly as Hermione half-turned to glance back at the house. A quick look at Harry and he shook his head, and Hermione nodded before turning back to her study of the waves.

Harry and Ron crossed the dunes quickly, opening the cottage door to find Charlie and Molly joyously hugging the twins, who stood in the center of the room, their robes singed and soot covering their faces. Between them was a single, battered trunk, and the two were barely on their feet. As Harry watched, Pomfrey bustled into the room, ushering them to the couch, and Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder as his best friend practically sagged in relief.

A glance to his left showed Dumbledore standing in the kitchen with Lupin, Shacklebolt, Amelia Bones, Fleur, Tonks...  and some grizzly-looking wizard he didn't recognize. The man almost looked like a lion, with a golden mane for a beard and sharp, tawny eyes. As Harry watched, the man's gaze locked on to him and his eyes widened. Harry stepped back immediately, heading back for the door.

Bill was still with his father, he was sure, and Harry wasn't going to interrupt. A glance at the ward keystone by the door had Harry making a face.

When Bill calmed down, he was going to  _flip_  about all the people who were inside his wards.

Harry headed back down the porch steps and back down to the shore, starting slightly when he realized Ron was still in lock-step with him. He had half-expected his best friend to stay with his family… but he supposed knowing the twins were okay was enough.

But no matter how obnoxious Percy may have been, the fact remained that Ron's brother was dead, and his father was not out of the woods.

He lowered himself back onto the sand, swallowing hard, and looked down to see Ginny force herself into a sitting position. Neville still hovered at her side, one hand on her back, and the normally fiery girl was staring blankly at the waves.

"Gone," she said finally, hollowly. "It's all gone."

"And a week before we were supposed to go back to school," Luna whispered.

"How can we now?" Neville asked, his eyes shadowed as he scowled. "How can we act like everything is normal?"

"We have to go back."

The three friends started, staring at Hermione. The curly-haired girl still stood with her back to them, gazing out over the ocean. After a moment of silence, Hermione spun around, looking at the three of them, then smiling sadly at Harry and Ron.

Slowly, Ron nodded. "With the Ministry out of the way, and Diagon Alley in shambles, Hogwarts is the next logical target."

"And we have to be there to help protect it," Hermione said softly.

"Not all of us," Harry argued. "I could – "

"Go play guardian while the rest of us hide?" Ginny asked waspishly, and Harry flinched. "I don't think so, Potter. We all go, or none of us go."

"And we need to be there, at least for now," Ron added calmly, and Harry let out a tired sigh.

Luna smiled sadly, her golden moth humming from its perch on her shoulder. Neville just sat there, staring back and forth between all of them for a long moment, before finally, he grimaced.

"All I know is, we'd better find that damned fortress  _fast_ ," he muttered, and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. The stocky Gryffindor boy looked her dead in the eye and said firmly, "We're gonna fucking need it before this is over. We can't trust _anywhere_ to be invulnerable."

"Summon the DA," Harry said suddenly. "Ginny, why don't you go check on Bill and let him know we're going to the Rookery? See if Tonks and Shack will come with us, or Moony." He scowled in the moonlight. "We need to get our act together. I'm tired of running. It's time we stop playing defense."

Ginny grinned viciously, the moonlight shining off the tear tracks on her face. 

* * *

 

 


	10. What Passing-bells

_Minister's Manor_

_London, England_

_August 30, 1996_

 

"Thank you all for coming," Fudge said genially, steepling his fingers as he looked around the table in the ornate dining room. "As you realize, we have quite a bit of work to do in our efforts to rebuild."

Rufus snorted mentally. Beside him, Amelia's fists were clenched under the table, and a glance across the room showed Amos Diggory looking rather pale and haggard. Dirk Cresswell was staring blankly at his hands, which visibly trembled as the splindly man swallowed harshly. Theresa Edgecombe was pale, her eyes red-rimmed and her lip quivering. Beside her sat Tiberius McClaggen, the burly wizard rubbing a hand up and down her back as he watched Fudge. Mafalda Hopkirk, directly across from Scrimgeour, stared blankly at the wall. Cuthbert Mockridge was frowning at Fudge, his eyes narrowed. Peasegood looked as confused as ever.

And Pius Thicknesse, seated at the end of the table opposite Fudge, looked incredibly serene.

"It is difficult to say what is the more pressing threat," Fudge continued, "but there is no question that the destruction of Diagon Alley was the act of one man. This must be addressed, and swiftly."

 _Bloody hell_ , Rufus thought to himself. "Right, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named needs to be our number one target," he said gruffly, nodding to himself. But he had a sinking feeling…

"Arthur Weasley burned our center of commerce to the ground," Thicknesse said smoothly, his dark eyes flashing. "He was seen casting Fiendfyre and fleeing the Ministry."

 _By who_? Rufus thought angrily. He knew for a fact that everyone else who had been in the Ministry at the time of the attack was dead – or worse.

"And where is he now, I wonder?" Thicknesse continued, looking around the room. "Were not all of the Department Heads summoned?"

"Molly Weasley sent word to Shacklebolt," Amelia cut in evenly. "Arthur is very ill, and indisposed."

"Convenient," McClaggen huffed, the corner of his mouth quirking in an out-of-place grin. Rufus looked at the man silently and let out a steady breath.

If he strung McClaggen from the ceiling, it wouldn't really help anyone's cause.

"Yes, well," Fudge said calmly, though he looked rather pleased with McClaggen's response, "ill or not, it has been over a week since the destruction of Diagon, and no one has seen him."

"It does seem odd," Peasegood said quietly, and Cresswell nodded to himself thoughtfully.

"Wait just a moment," Diggory cut in, his face flushing. The stocky man looked back and forth between Fudge and Thicknesse, his eyes wide. "What are you suggesting?"

"There have been reports," Thicknesse said slowly, "of a spy in our midst."

 _Well,_  Rufus thought angrily,  _that's awfully bold of you_.

Turning his head to look at Thicknesse, Rufus simply raised an eyebrow, as both Amelia Bones and Diggory scoffed at the same time.

"Arthur?" Diggory replied incredulously, as both Hopkirk and Mockridge stared at Thicknesse. "Arthur  _Weasley?_ A spy for You-Know-Who?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Arthur is the least hardened man I've ever  _met_. He apologizes to the inter-office  _memos_  when he trashes them, for crying out loud! They're  _paper_!"

"He was friends with Rookwood," McClaggen pointed out.

"A lot of people were friends with Rookwood," Hopkirk replied, her eyes flashing, as Edgecombe looked down at the table, wringing her hands. Rufus frowned at the woman a moment, a flash of pity stirring. He'd forgotten about that ill-fated romance.

"He has been a consistently loyal Ministry employee for nearly three decades," Amelia said sternly, glaring openly at Thicknesse. "I don't know a man with more integrity than he."

"Arthur Weasley does not work for the Ministry," a quiet voice sounded from the corner, and the entire room froze. As everyone turned to look at the shadowed, grizzly old man in the corner, Rufus closed his eyes.

 _Don't do it, old man,_  he thought desperately.  _Don't out him like this. You know what will happen._

Croaker clearly wasn't listening. The Head of the Unspeakables coughed harshly, then cleared his throat. "Weasley was hired by the International Confederation of Wizards and asked to come work for the Ministry in a low-level position. He is the head of an international team of Hit Wizards and Unspeakables, and he has been running this team right under all of your noses since his eldest boy was still in nappies."

Outrage echoed through the room, and Rufus sighed to himself as Fudge turned red. "You knew about this?" Fudge demanded, slamming his meaty fist down on the table, and Croaker smiled thinly.

"I helped him set it up," the Unspeakable replied evenly. "I helped with recruiting, although I do not know the current members. After the initial phases, he kept me out of everything, at my request."

"That's  _treason_ ," Fudge hissed, and Cresswell and McClaggen nodded emphatically.

"The job that he was tasked with was protection," Croaker murmured as the group of Department Heads stared. "The team he ran would track down the worst offenders  _before_  they could come into power like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and…  _contain_  them." Rufus changed another glance at Diggory, and the other man looked shaken. "They also would liberate certain dangerous items and bring them to our department for safe-keeping, to keep them out of the wrong hands. Many of the magical advances we have made in the last twenty-odd years are thanks to him."

A stunned silence settled over the room. Edgecombe was looking nervously between Fudge and Croaker. Hopkirk's eyes were narrowed on Croaker, and Cresswell and McClaggen were shaking their heads. Mockridge looked visibly stunned, and Peasegood had gone back to his standard baffled look.

"Protection?" Thicknesse said quietly after a moment's silence. "I wonder, Croaker, did he have the means to change the Ministry wards?"

Rufus felt himself go cold.

"I am not certain to what extent he involved himself in the defenses," Croaker said simply, and Thicknesse laughed hollowly. Under the table, Rufus fisted his hands, breathing slowly and steadily.

"There you have it, Minister," Thicknesse said to Fudge, raising an eyebrow as he turned back to the portly man. Fudge was staring at Croaker, but he turned to meet Thicknesse's gaze and frowned deeply.

"I suppose so," the Minister said lowly. "Then we must act quickly. As of this moment, Arthur Weasley is a wanted man. Amelia, round up all his friends and known associates for questioning. We need to find out how deep this goes."

"Of course, Minister," Amelia replied smoothly. "Shall I start with everyone in this room?"

Hopkirk let out a tired chuckle, rubbing a hand across her eyes, and Amos Diggory was still looking back and forth between Fudge, Thicknesse, and Croaker, as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

"Amelia, I know you're upset," Fudge said consolingly, and Amelia snorted.

"Arthur Weasley is no agent of You-Know-Who," Amelia replied sternly, and Edgecombe looked up, her eyes still watering.

"But how do you know?" Edgecombe said softly. "Apparently, none of us knew him."

"I know his character," Amelia shot back, and Rufus reached under the table and tapped her knee.  _Not now_ , he thought desperately at her, and though she couldn't hear him, she seemed to get the message. The formidable women fell silent, settling for glaring at Edgecombe heatedly.

"Shacklebolt was in his office a lot," Peasegood was musing. "That kid Tonks was always with Shacklebolt. Plus Perkins, he worked with the man for years – "

"The werewolf," McClaggen put in. "They are friends."

"And we all know he was a friend of Sirius Black's," Cresswell added.

Rufus glanced down the table at Thicknesse. The man's dark eyes were gleaming, a slight smile twisting his face.

"It's a start," Fudge nodded. "Amelia, get your Aurors on it."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt is out of reach," Rufus cut in before Amelia could defend him.  _And get herself in more trouble_ , he thought angrily. "He resigned his post at the Ministry three days ago and has accepted an offer from Dumbledore to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. As I understand it, he is already at the school."

"So send Aurors to retrieve him," Thicknesse said easily, and Fudge shook his head.

"Dumbledore would never allow them in," the Minister muttered, "not without proof of wrongdoing."

"There's still the others," McClaggen pointed out. "And I'm sure if we think carefully, we can trace back everyone he spends significant time with."

"Which brings us to the next issue," Cresswell said slowly. "Do we think his family members are compromised?"

"There are whispers about the oldest boy," Fudge agreed. "That he got into something he shouldn't have on a dig. Most of his team died."

Murmurs sprang up around the table again, and Rufus felt sick.

"And there was that business with their daughter a few years back," McClaggen added. "My poor nephew was terrified to be at that school."

"The twins have disappeared since their joke shop was destroyed," Cresswell muttered. "Come to think of it, none of the Weasleys have been seen in public since."

Fudge nodded sharply, glancing at Thicknesse before replying, "We'll question the whole family. Amelia, bring them in."

"What of Harry Potter?" Thicknesse asked softly.

The entire room froze yet again, and everyone turned as one to stare at the new Deputy Minister for Magic.

"You can't be serious," Mockridge said flatly. "There is absolutely no way Harry Potter is aligned with You-Know-Who."

"I suggest nothing of the sort," Thicknesse smiled at the older man. "But if the Weasley family  _is_  compromised – well, who holds Harry Potter's guardianship?"

 _And the true goal is revealed_ , Rufus thought to himself. Around the table, he saw the others nodding thoughtfully, murmuring to themselves. Edgecombe pressed her hand to her mouth as new tears sprang up in her eyes, and Rufus scowled at her.  _Weak-willed thing,_  he thought derisively. If he had had to work beside  _that_  woman every day, instead of Amelia, he would have Avada'd himself already.

"Very well," Fudge sighed, but yet again, he seemed extremely pleased. "When you detain William Weasley, make sure you get young Harry into protective custody. I think some of the newest Ministry wards are his classmates, anyway, so he shouldn't feel alone. Alright, if there is nothing else?" The Minister gave a cursory look around the table, then nodded to himself. "Dismissed."

 

* * *

 

_The Three Broomsticks_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

 

"This is madness, Rufus!" Diggory exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his mead sloshing in his glass. Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes at the other man as some drops of liquid flew across the table, and Diggory cleared his throat and set the glass down. "Arthur Weasley, the head of some secret international  _assassin_  group? All the Weasleys being questioned –  _Molly Weasley_?"

"There is an angle here," Rufus said simply. "Surely you caught it."

The other man just stared at him blankly, his face flushing. "The Potter boy," he muttered. "To get to the Potter boy."

Rufus said nothing.

Diggory shook his head, his eyes solemn. "I lost my boy," he whispered. "I lost my boy, and the kid was there. All this time, I thought – " He picked up the glass, took another swallow. "But then You-Know-Who was  _in_  the Ministry, and I knew. He'd been telling the truth, the whole time. He tried to warn us, tried to tell the world the truth that my boy,  _my Ced_ ," Diggory's eyes flashed angrily, "died a hero's death, and…"

"And he was vilified for it," Rufus finished simply, and Diggory flinched. The other man seemed to shrink in on himself for a moment, before he let out a shaky breath and squared his shoulders.

"Thicknesse is one of them, then," he said hollowly.

Rufus just nodded.

"The others?" Diggory asked, panic flashing in his eyes.

"I doubt it," Rufus replied. "They are just frightened and spineless."

"I can't," Diggory muttered. "I can't just pretend – "

"You're going to have to. We need you in place."

Diggory set the glass down again, his hand shaking. Meeting Scrimgeour's gaze, he asked quietly, "We?"

Rufus smiled.

They had lost Croaker – what the man had been thinking, to out Weasley like that, he had no idea. With Rufus and Croaker being the only two in the Ministry who knew the man's true job, he should have been safe. But Croaker had given Arthur Weasley up without a second thought.

Amos Diggory had a reputation for being emotional and hot-headed, and it would be easy to convince Fudge he had come around to their way of thinking.

Truly, it was one of Amelia's better ideas. The formidable witch realized she'd been too blunt, too overt in her opinions in the meeting, and she knew she would not be kept in the Ministry for long. She was planning a dramatic exit, but before that – Scrimgeour needed someone else on the inside.

"Yes," Rufus responded, grinning viciously. "We."

 

* * *

 

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St Catchpole, Devon_

 

"Aurors! Open up!"

Molly flew around the kitchen, her hands shaking as she whipped her wand left and right. The warning had come only fifteen minutes before, and there was no way she could get everything.

Who knew what would remain the next time she was able to come home?

She forced back tears, swiping impatiently at her hair as it fell in front of her eyes. A hand touched her back suddenly and she jumped, hand pressed to her chest as she spun around.

Ginny smiled at her softly, her daughter's brown eyes somber and focused.

"Make some noise next time, would you dear?" Molly asked quietly, and Ginny quirked a grin.

"I cleared out everything sentimental from upstairs and got as much from the living room as I could. Hermione is shrinking everything for me now."

"Open up!" Robairds called angrily, and Ginny cut a glare at the door.

Molly nodded absently, her eyes drawn to the clock in the corner.

Arthur's hand still rested on  _Mortal Peril_. It hadn't moved for over a week.

"Mum," Ginny said kindly, squeezing her mother's arm. "Mum, we have to go."

"I need the china," Molly replied, shaking herself and turning back to the cabinets.

"Mum, we can't – "

"My brothers gave me this china as a wedding gift, I  _need_  the china," Molly said angrily, and Ginny sighed. Stepping forward, her daughter slashed her wand in a quick V motion, and all of the china flew out of the cabinets and landed in an empty box. A quick jab, and the box hurtled towards the living room.

Ginny's patience had run out, it seemed, because her girl grabbed her arm and all but dragged her into the living room. Molly fought back tears as Hermione looked up, giving her a sympathetic look before sending the last of the boxes through. "Right then," Hermione muttered. "Is this everything?"

Ginny glanced back over her shoulder, glaring angrily at the door. "I think it's going to have to be."

Hermione nodded, then turned on her heel and tapped the side of the fireplace. The grate suddenly groaned, and flames appeared. As Molly stared, Hermione leaned down and whispered something at the flames, Floo powder in her hand, then tossed the powder into the fire, stepping back and nodding to herself.

The brunette witch glanced at Ginny a moment, then stepped forward, disappearing into the flames. Molly had barely a second to say, "Wait – "

And Ginny shoved her into the fireplace, and her world spun.

Molly landed on the floor of Kingsley Shacklebolt's bachelor pad, tears streaming down her face.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

"Try not to move," Poppy Pomfrey said kindly, her mouth twisted in a grimace as she looked down at the Weasley patriarch.

Bill winced as he saw his father's face contort in pain. He had been leaning back on two chair legs, but he dropped the chair with a  _thud_ , leaning forward immediately with his hands clasped between his knees. "Hi, Dad," he whispered, and his father's unfocused eyes slid towards Bill's face.

"The Ministry," his father gasped. "It's – "

"Don't worry," Bill said softly. "It's going to be alright."

"No," Arthur Weasley said through clenched teeth, " _no_. The Inferi, they were – "

"You stopped it, Dad," Bill replied, leaning forward and squeezing his dad's arm – on the one spot that had already fully healed. "You stopped them."

"So many," his father whispered, his eyes fluttering closed, and Bill shot Pomfrey a worried look.

"He's not out of the woods yet," she said quietly, a frown creasing her forehead. "That he woke at all, that he's coherent, it's a good sign, but…"

Bill nodded silently, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Your mum is safe. We got her from Shack's place and brought her here," Scrimgeour's gravelly voice sounded behind him, and Bill nodded again without turning. "Aurors went to retrieve her and found an empty house. They, uh – "

Turning in the chair, Bill raised an eyebrow at the older man, and Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "They claimed there was a spell set to destroy the house. Amelia and I are pretty certain they burned it down out of spite."

"Most likely, Thicknesse gave them orders behind my back," Bones said angrily from the doorway, and Bill met her furious gaze evenly. "They are escalating things quickly."

"Right out of the hostile takeover playbook," Scrimgeour nodded.

"And you don't believe Fudge knows that Thicknesse is a Death Eater," Bill asked, his eyes narrowed.

Scrimgeour snorted. "Fudge doesn't know his ass from his elbow. How do you think Malfoy was able to manipulate him all those years?"

"I think maybe we should call an Order meeting," Pomfrey said softly, and Bill glanced back at his father. The mediwitch smiled gently at him, then reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll stay with him," she whispered. Bill grabbed her hand and squeezed her fingers in gratitude, then pushed to his feet as the older woman smiled.

"Do it," Bill said sharply, shooting a hard look at Bones, and the stately woman nodded, shooting off a Patronus then heading for the fireplace in the corner.

Bill pushed past Scrimgeour and quickly moved down the stairs, shaking his head when Fleur looked at him questioningly. She frowned back at him, a spark of sorrow and pity in her eyes. His fiancé was sitting in his armchair, a large tome spread on her lap and a quill scribbling furiously on its own beside her. On his couch, his mother sat with a large blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Tonks speaking to her quietly and rubbing her back. He chanced a look at his mother's face and felt a stab of pain when he saw the tears running down her cheeks.

Merlin, but he was learning to hate a little more every day. He felt the tell-tale surge start to build and he closed his eyes –

And a pair of thin arms wrapped around his middle, and he let out a sigh as Fleur pressed her cheek to his back. "Easy,  _mon ami_ ," she whispered, and slowly, the electricity ebbed away. Bill squeezed her hands, lifting one to his lips and kissing her knuckles. He felt her smile against his back and gently pulled free of her arms, turning for a second to press a kiss to her forehead.

A glance at his mother showed her watching them silently, a watery smile on her face. Molly Weasley got to her feet shakily, squeezing Bill's arm as she walked by him and went up the stairs.

Bill sighed wearily then headed for the front door. Behind him, he heard Tonks spring to her feet and fall into step, and he moved quickly down the beach. Before he had managed to step off the porch, a small group appeared over the dunes, and he quirked a smile when he saw Harry and Ron's grim faces in the lead, with Hermione in lock-step with them, gesturing as they walked.

He stopped on the steps, watching as the group followed the 'Golden Trio' up the beach. Harry glanced up at the cottage then clapped Ron on the shoulder, jogging up to join him.

"Done, then?" Bill asked lightly, and Harry frowned, shoving a sweaty clump of hair back from his face.

"As much as we can be," he replied with a scowl. "They're – they are getting there."

In the days since the Ministry was destroyed, Harry had kicked into overdrive. Bill had watched as the teen cornered Moody, demanding his help, then somehow managed to get some thirty-odd kids away from their families with a week left to the summer holidays, and they all bloody well disappeared. If not for the occasional messages from Harry, he would have gone spare with worry.

How Harry had managed to convince Moody to open up one of his safehouses, to go into training with the lot of them for a week, Bill would never understand. But – looking across the dunes at the small group, now standing in a clearly-structured semi-circle around Hermione and Neville, with Ginny, Ron and Luna standing back a few feet – he could see a difference. They were a unit, somehow, a cohesive force.

"I won't be able to be at the platform tomorrow," Bill said sadly. "None of us can."

Harry grinned viciously, and Bill just barely managed to stop himself from raising an eyebrow. "I dare the tosser to attack us at Kings' Cross," Harry all but snarled. "He'll have a really bad day."

"Aren't you confident," Tonks said drily, but Harry just shrugged.

 _This is new_ , Bill mused to himself. Harry was clearly pissed the bloody hell off.

"Your dad?" Harry asked, shooting Bill a worried look, and the cursebreaker shook his head.

"He woke up," Bill replied shortly. "Pomfrey says his chances are better, but…" He shrugged helplessly. "She's still not sure."

"He'll pull through," Harry murmured. His gaze sharpened slightly as he looked at the pair of them. "Heading out?"

"Order meeting," Tonks explained, popping her gum loudly. "Time to try to get the lay of the land."

"Coming?" Bill asked, and Harry nodded. Turning on his heel, the boy wrapped one hand around the pendant he wore next to the dragon tooth necklace, and down the shoreline, Neville started jogging their way. Harry stood silently waiting until the stocky teen reached them, then turned back to Bill and looked at him expectantly.

Bill quirked a grin, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal disk, tapping it with his wand. Tonks and the two teens touched the disk and he murmured under his breath, and they were gone.

 

* * *

 

_Grimmauld Place_

_London, England_

 

"Well, now that all us traitorous Weasleys are together again," George said with fake joviality, looking around the room.

"Well, not  _all_  of us," Fred corrected. "Where are Ronniekins, Gin-Gin, Mum and – "

He trailed off, his face falling, and George elbowed him in the side.

"Mum stayed with Dad," Bill answered quietly, "and Ron and Ginny are working on a project." The cursebreaker slid into his seat, Harry moving to take his normal spot and Neville heading down to the end of the table with McGonagall. The elder witch patted his shoulder absently before leaning over to start a whispered conversation.

Harry watched them curiously for a moment before turning his gaze away, looking through the room in thoughtful silence.

Everyone seemed so –  _cowed_.

He scowled to himself, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the runic charm he had taken to carrying. He turned the charm idly in his hands, staring blankly at it as his mind raced. The week of training at Moody's property – which truthfully, had been longer than a week, not that anyone but Bill, Viktor and Moody were ever going to know that – had done its job. The DA was a unit now, better trained than a year in regular DADA classes could have done, skilled with defense, offense, and, thanks to Krum, weapons. They were living up to their name. They were becoming an Army.

But it was easy to be brave when no one was attacking, and they were all still kids.

 _So are you_ , a voice sounded at the back of his mind, and Harry snorted. He hadn't been a kid since – well, ever, really.

He just hoped they were ready. Because Bill was right. With all the Weasleys on the Ministry's wanted list, and several other Order members – they were going to be the only ones who could guard the platform and the train. For Bill or any of the others to go to the platform, even in disguise, would be the height of recklessness.

Dumbledore swept into the room in a flurry of orange and teal robes, his normally twinkling eyes hard. The Headmaster moved immediately to the head of the table, settling into his chair and looking at them all solemnly.

In the silence that followed, Harry saw Amelia Bones and Scrimgeour slip into the room, Bones settling in a chair in the corner and Scrimgeour leaning against the wall, his arms crossed across his front and his wand dangling from one hand. The old lion of a man glanced at Harry, then looked over at Bill and nodded at the cursebreaker. Harry eyed Bill curiously, but his guardian said nothing.

"By now, you've all heard," Dumbledore said quietly. "The insult being dealt against the Weasley family by the Ministry is cold, calculated, and doubtless going to be very effective in sowing public discord. Several of our well-positioned members will now have to operate in the shadows. And the Deputy Minister post is now held by a Death Eater."

Murmurs broke out around the room, and Harry watched as Emmeline Vance and Mundungus Fletcher both paled. Everybody in the Order had already heard that the Weasleys, Tonks, Lupin and a couple others were wanted by the Ministry – but Thicknesse, apparently, was news to most of them.

"This summer has been a series of atrocities which we have barely survived," Dumbledore continued. "I admit that I did not expect Tom to go so quickly and brutally on the offensive. I thought he would take more time to strengthen his base, to operate in the shadows. It seems I've seriously misjudged his actions," the headmaster said sorrowfully. "With so many losses, we need to act quickly, to strike back, and to also hold the ground we have left. I have quite a few ideas where to start, but I am open to suggestions."

Silence reigned in the room as everyone shifted nervously, and Harry scoffed aloud. The Order members turned almost as one to look at him – and both Dumbledore and Bill looked rather amused, he noticed – and Harry flushed for a moment before stiffening his shoulders.

"We are on the trail of something that Voldemort desperately wants," he said quietly, "so I don't think that we have nothing working. We managed to clean out the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin's secret book stash. We saved a ton of my classmates and stopped the entirety of Surrey from burning to ash. But there's a couple things I think we've overlooked. That woman, Vablatsky, in the hospital where Percy's girlfriend was attacked – Vance, you were able to get the hospital tapes, and you said Voldemort was in that room, right?"

Vance nodded thoughtfully her eyes narrowed.

"He went for her personally," Harry continued, "which means that likely, there was something she had or knew that he needed. We need to figure out what that is."

Dumbledore was watching him shrewdly as people nodded and murmured agreement around the table.

"Odds are that the platform or train will be attacked tomorrow," Harry said simply, and Neville grimaced from his end of the table. "Since the Order cannot be there, we were able to train many of our fellow classmates to defend the platform, the train, and once we're there, the school. Continuing that is necessary, I think, and we will."

"But really, to strike back against Voldemort, we need to remove his base." Harry took a deep breath, then said quietly, "I propose we take down Lucius Malfoy first."

Charlie stiffened, and Bill chuckled, and everyone started shouting.

 

* * *

 

Neville bit back a grin as the Order exploded into chaos. Harry was sitting silently at his spot near the head of the table, watching as everyone gestured and yelled. He shook his head as he heard McGonagall let out an impatient huff beside him, stuffing his fingers in his ears before –

A loud  _bang_  sounded as McGonagall shot off a firecracker from her wand, and the room fell silent once again, everyone, even Dumbledore, looking at McGonagall apologetically. The Scotswoman huffed again under her breath, then turned her attention to Harry.

"Potter," she said in a thick brogue, "while I certainly agree, we have wanted to take down Malfoy for quite some time, and there has yet to be an opportunity. You and the other children's fight with him at the Ministry a few months back is the closest we've come."

"Where would we even  _find_  him?" Fletcher scoffed, but Tonks and Shacklebolt were watching Harry curiously, and Lupin was grinning.

"Yes, Harry, where  _would_  we find him?" Lupin asked, his eyes gleaming with laughter, and Harry grinned wryly.

"He's at his manor," he said simply.

"You can't know that," Vance protested, and Harry just looked at her. Neville was staring at his friend, and suddenly he grinned. Harry winked at him, eyes sparkling.

"Yes, I can," Harry replied. "I have a source."

"How – ?" Tonks asked incredulously, and Dumbledore, who had been watching Harry silently, suddenly smiled, the twinkle appearing in his eyes.

"He can still get into the Manor, even after being freed?" he asked with a chuckle, and Harry shot a grin at the Headmaster. "Remarkable. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Most people don't think of house elves," Harry shrugged. "And it was Hermione's idea."

Shack chuckled as Tonks grinned from ear to ear.

"I figure," Harry continued, "between Dobby's knowledge and ability to get through the wards, and Mr. Weasley's knowledge from all his raids, we should have enough to at least get inside and, if not find Malfoy himself, then find  _something_  useful."

"Brilliant," Lupin breathed, a vicious grin spreading across his face, and Fletcher shook his head.

"If Arthur ever wakes up – " He trailed off, shooting a sheepish look at the Weasley sons in the room, and Bill shook his head.

"He woke this afternoon," Bill said quietly.

"There you have it, then." Dumbledore gave Harry another appraising look, then turned back to the room at large. "We have the makings of a plan. On to other matters. Rufus, have you been able to find anything about the missing children?"

Neville glanced at the grizzled man leaning against the wall, a sinking feeling in his stomach as the man scowled.

"Thicknesse is the one in charge of their location and 'care,'" the old Auror growled. "I've been able to make contact with a nurse they employ, and she says the children are all alive, but that's all so far. I'm working her."

"Dean Thomas," Neville said softly, and Scrimgeour cut his eyes in Neville's direction. "Is Dean Thomas there?"

Fred and George went grim and Harry's eyes hardened. "Yes," Scrimgeour replied tersely, and McGonagall let out a shaky breath next to him. Without looking at her, Neville reached out and clasped his hand on his Head of House's arm.

"How many children, Rufus?" Moody asked in a low growl, and Scrimgeour's face darkened.

"At least three dozen, so far, near as I can tell," he replied, "and from what the nurse said, they are bringing in more almost every day. They don't all speak English."

"Vat vould the Ministry vant vith so many children?" Krum asked darkly, and Harry shot the Bulgarian a look.

"I think the correct question," Shacklebolt replied, "is what does You-Know –  _Voldemort_ ," he corrected himself, glancing at Harry, "want with so many children."

Vance paled.

"Have you any doubt that it is Thicknesse who suggested taking children?" Lupin asked lowly, and Scrimgeour shook his head.

"He's playing Fudge like a fiddle," Bones cut in, scowling angrily. "In the meeting, he would look to Thicknesse before he said anything, like he was looking for approval each time. It was sickening. And in that whole room, only Diggory, Hopkirk, and Mockridge showed the slightest sign of disagreement."

"Diggory would be useful," Dumbledore mused. "Rufus, you say you've been able to set him to some investigating for you?"

Scrimgeour nodded. "I don't recommend bringing him in," he said cautiously, and Moody and Shack both snorted at the same time.

"He's a hothead," Moody said gruffly. "And fickle as the wind."

"We aren't inducting new members any time soon," Dumbledore said ruefully. "Certainly not into the Inner Circle, at least. But… if they are proving useful, Scrimgeour," Dumbledore paused there, his eyes twinkling madly, " _use them_."

Scrimgeour nodded once, leaning back against the wall without another word.

"Amy," Moody growled, and Neville started before realizing the man was talking about Bones. The formidable woman raised an eyebrow and looked at Moody silently. "Are preparations in place?"

Bones nodded. "I have the network set, drop locations and code phrases all settled," she said with a frown. "It's just a question of who stays loyal once – "

"You're added to the list?" Shack finished, his lips quirking in a slight grin.

Bones simply nodded.

"All we can do is wait," Dumbledore said softly. "Well, if that concludes – "

"One thing," Vance cut in quietly, and Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence, looking patiently at the woman. Neville watched her silently – he wasn't sure why, but he had an awful feeling.

Vance bit her lip for a moment, then seemed to steel herself before saying, "The Ministry is saying Arthur is the one who burned down the Ministry building and nearly all of Diagon Alley."

"There is no evidence to support that," Bones replied evenly. "It's just a division tactic."

"But…" Vance trailed off, then shook her head. "Fortescue was my great-uncle. And his shop is gone.  _He_  – " She scowled angrily, brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand. "If there is any chance that Arthur did that, shouldn't we – ?"

"I'm sorry," one of the twins cut her off in a strangely chipper voice, and Neville turned to see Fred glaring angrily at the woman. "But it sounds like you're accusing our father of murder."

George just shook his head, and Charlie went pale. Neville chanced a glance up the table to Harry's face, then Bill's. Harry looked sad and angry, but Bill –

The cursebreaker met Neville's gaze, a perfectly blank expression on his face, and Neville swallowed.

Something was  _wrong_. He could feel it.

"I don't mean – " Vance was saying nervously, "It's just – "

"Just  _what_?" Charlie scowled, and Bill sighed.

"Please, everyone," Dumbledore cut in, his eyes solemn once again. "Now is not the time for infighting. Emmeline, we are all sorry for your loss. Truly. But there is no evidence to suggest that Arthur was anything but lucky to barely escape with his life."

Vance looked at Dumbledore with an uncertain frown, then bit her lip and nodded.

"I suggest we disperse," Dumbledore continued. "We all have much to do."

And without another word, Dumbledore stood and swept from the room as suddenly as he had come, and Neville stared after the Headmaster in confusion. Glancing up the table as the Order members began to murmur again, Neville met Harry's worried eyes, then stood and went over to his friend.

Something was going on. They needed to figure out what.

 

* * *

 

_Platform 9 ¾_

_King's Cross Station_

_London, England_

_September 1, 1996_

 

Blimey, but they were sitting ducks.

Ron stood silently on the platform, his eyes trained on the entrance to the hidden space. It was ten til eleven, and any other year, the platform would have been a bustle of activity, huge crowds, loud shouting, people laughing and crying and rushing about.

The quiet was unbearable.

He glanced to his right and nodded approvingly when he saw Sue and Justin pacing up and down their section of the platform, wands drawn and eyes scanning their surroundings. Further beyond them was Hannah and Seamus, and every twenty feet in either direction stood another pair of students, wands out, eyes alert.

They looked downright militant, and Ron really couldn't care less.

Everyone, from the Order down to the DA, had agreed that an attack on the train would be the next logical move. Thin as the Order was stretched – and as many who were now on the "Most Wanted" list – it was a lot easier for the DA to stand guard.

He'd thought his Mum was going to cry when he'd suggested that, but then, his Mum was crying a lot these days.

The train whistle sounded behind him, and Ron scoffed when he saw Justin jump at the noise. A quick glance at the train showed his sister and Neville moving through the carriages, checking each one for hidden assailants or traps of some sort. Bill's last-minute lesson had been rather helpful. He couldn't teach them everything, of course – but enough to have a fighting chance of finding something. Near the front of the train, he could see Luna slipping through the open spaces, little golden moths fluttering away from her hands and landing in random spots along the carriages.

He turned back to watch the opening and let out a shaky breath.

"It's been quiet," Harry said uneasily, suddenly appearing at Ron's shoulder, and Ron grunted in reply. Near the entrance, he could see Hermione talking quietly with an old crone that  _had_  to be Tonks – but so far nothing had –

A sudden commotion sounded, and Ron saw Hermione's eyes narrow and her knuckles go white around her wand. To her right, the platform entrance rippled and four Aurors stormed through, Dawlish and Proudfoot in the lead.

Dawlish's eyes zeroed right in on Ron and narrowed, and Ron braced himself for a confrontation. Beside him, he felt Harry stiffen, and a few feet back, Hermione had moved from the entryway.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley, we need you to come with us," Dawlish said sternly. "And fetch your sister, if you would, and Miss Granger, as well."

Ron drew his eyebrows together, looking at the Auror in puzzlement, and said simply, "I'm sorry, Auror Dawlish, what seems to be the trouble?"

Behind them, the whistle sounded again, and Ron just smiled pleasantly.

"Your parents are wanted fugitives," Dawlish snarled back, "along with Miss Granger's guardian. We are taking you into protective custody, by order of the Deputy Minister."

"I don't remember my Auntie saying anything about protective custody," a warm voice spoke up, and Ron glanced to the side to see Sue Bones standing just a few feet away, frowning at Dawlish.

"Madam Amelia Bones is also wanted for questioning," Dawlish said, turning to face Susan. "You're Susan Bones, then? You'll be coming with us as well. A Miss Hannah Abbott is being remanded along with Emily Abbott and yourself."

"No," Ron said simply, and Dawlish turned back to glare at him.

"What did you just say, boy?" the Auror almost roared, and Ron just turned to the side, glancing over at Sue.

"Get everyone else on the train and ready to go," Ron muttered to her. " _Now_." Sue nodded once and gestured to Justin, and the pair moved off in opposite directions, gathering everyone up.

"We are authorized to use force if necessary," Proudfoot spoke up quietly, and Ron glanced over at him, only to grin when he saw the man standing behind Proudfoot, a wrinkled hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Force?" Dumbledore said quietly, and the Aurors spun to stare at the Headmaster. "That doesn't sound like protection to me. What seems to be the trouble here?"

Dumbledore squeezed Hermione's shoulder lightly, and his best friend nodded, stepping around the Aurors to grab Harry and Ron by the arm and steer them towards the train.

"You are interfering in a Ministry sanctioned – "

"My dear man," Dumbledore replied with a laugh, "where do you believe is safer for the children than Hogwarts itself?"

Harry stepped up onto the train, Hermione still tugging at Ron's arm, and they all three froze when Proudfoot replied.

"The order has been given to take Arthur Weasley to Azkaban upon capture. If his children know where to find him, we need them."

"Ron," Hermione whispered as Ron felt himself go cold. "Ron, we have to go."

"They're after my dad," he said through gritted teeth. "They are after my  _dad_."

"They can't get to him now, mate," Harry replied bracingly. "You know he's behind a Fidelius now."

 _So were your parents_ , Ron thought viciously, but he shook his head. Bill had cast the charm on Shell Cottage  _and_  his mother and brothers' safehouse, and somehow found a way to make himself Secret Keeper, even though that wasn't supposed to be possible. No one was getting to them as long as they stayed in the houses.

"Right," he said angrily, and he nudged Hermione's arm, gesturing for her to get up onto the train. He pulled himself up behind her, and the second the door slid shut behind them, the train jerked forward. Ron chanced a glance out the window, and saw Dumbledore still standing between the train and two of the Aurors – Proudfoot and Dawlish still argued with him, but the other two had disappeared.

"We need to make sure everyone is on board," Hermione said nervously, glancing down the train. Ahead of them, Ron saw Neville and Luna heading their way, Neville frowning and Luna looking more pale than usual.

"Where's Ginny?" Neville asked, looking between the three of them with a furrowed brow, and Ron stared at him.

"What do you mean? She was on the train with you," Harry said quickly, his eyes darting over to Luna.

Neville shook his head. "She found something in one of the compartments and got off to go find you. We haven't seen her come back."

Ron's blood ran cold, and Hermione spun on her heel and shot a Patronus out the window.

 

* * *

 

Dumbledore smiled genially at Dawlish and Proudfoot, stepping back and straightening his robes. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have other matters to attend to. Lovely chatting with you both."

He turned on his booted heel and swept away, his mind racing. Trust Hermione Granger to have learned how to send a silent Patronus on her own. And trust Ginny Weasley to find trouble. Honestly, that child was almost as bad as Harry.

" _Point Me Ginevra Weasley_ ," he breathed, and his wand spun in the opposite direction from the train. He set off down the platform, eyes narrowed, casting revealing spells with every step. No traps appeared, no hidden attackers, and Albus felt his disquiet grow as he continued to find nothing.

He didn't want to see any harm come to the child. Not again. And he  _certainly_ didn't need another reason for young William to go off the deep end.

 

* * *

 

Ginny let out a tired sigh as she shoved to her feet, her eyes narrowed on the speck disappearing in the distance – the speck she was supposed to be on. How had she managed to do this to herself? Really, what had she been thinking, going to investigate the strange flash she'd seen by herself? She shook her head to clear it, frowning as she felt a stab of pain in her neck.

She wasn't normally clumsy like this. How had she tripped over – ?

She leaned down and picked up the offending item. A teddy bear.  _Really_?

Then the muffled sound of sobbing reached her, and Ginny straightened quickly, drawing her wand as she carefully scanned her surroundings.

"Hello?" she called quietly, and the muffled sobs grew louder. Moving carefully towards the platform – her leg  _hurt_ , there was blood gushing from a gash near her kneecap, and her head was spinning slightly – she pushed herself up from the railway tracks and got unsteadily to her feet.

Merlin, she was losing blood  _fast_ , she thought idly. Narrowing her eyes, she glanced around again, her wand clenched a little tighter in her fist. "Hello!" she tried again, and the sobs stopped.

From behind a nearby pillar, a small head appeared. The girl couldn't have been more than nine or ten at most, with curly brown hair and dark, sad eyes, and as Ginny looked at the kids tear-stained face, she felt a swell of pity.

Poor kid was lost, probably.

"Where's my mummy?" the little girl whispered, and Ginny crossed the space and knelt beside the girl, forcing a kind smile onto her face.

"I don't know, sweetie, but I'll help you find her," Ginny said softly. "I'm Ginny, and you are?"

"Trudy," the little girl whispered back, and Ginny smiled again, handing the little girl the teddy bear that hung loosely from her hand.

"Hi, Trudy," Ginny murmured. "Do you remember where you last saw your mummy?"

Trudy shook her head. Her eyes were blank and empty. "She left me," the girl whimpered, clutching the teddy bear to her chest. "She left me here."

Ginny let out a tired sigh. Glancing around the platform again, she bit her lip. No one was nearby, as far as she could tell – she might have missed the train, but she hadn't gotten caught in an ambush, at least.

"Okay, Trudy," she straightened up and held out a hand. "Let's go to the front desk and see if we can find anything out."

"I don't like it there," the little girl whispered, tugging on Ginny's arm. "It's too loud. Stay here with me til Mummy comes back?"

Ginny stared evenly at the little girl. The kid's eyes were still dull and lifeless, and her demeanor was just plain  _strange_. Alarm bells were starting to sound in the back of her mind – something wasn't right –

"Play with me," the little girl said insistently, and tugged on Ginny's arm sharply again.

"Kid, you're a little – "

" _Play with me!_ " Trudy screamed suddenly, her cute little face twisting with rage, and the girl dove at her, a small blade slashing the air from her hand. Ginny swore viciously and jumped back, and the blade scraped across her side, slicing through her t-shirt as she dodged. She skidded back a couple steps, wand raised, and stunned the little hellion that was still running at her, screaming, and she choked back a gasp as the kid collapsed on the floor, her head hitting the stone with a loud  _crack_. Her mind rebelled as she stared at the little girl, as blood began to spread from beneath her head –

Ginny stepped back and glanced back up the platform. She'd seen Dumbledore outside when she'd gotten off the train, maybe he was still –

Her head spun and Ginny swallowed as everything started to go blurry. With shaking hands, she snatched the knife from the ground, running her finger along the blade. The smell of lavender wafted up from the blade, and Ginny growled angrily as she collapsed to the ground.

 

* * *

 

Dumbledore knelt beside the little girl on the ground, his eyes solemn as he looked at the blood spreading behind her head. She was breathing, but only barely, and the child was pale and emaciated, her little face tinged with blue.

But there was no sign of Ginny.

He straightened, looking around himself with narrowed eyes. Stepping forward, he moved towards the train railway, the disquiet growing.

Ginny would not have just vanished on her friends and family. She would not make them worry like this.

There was blood on the ground nearby, he saw, and perhaps it belonged to the little girl, but –

He traced the outline with his wand, murmuring softly, and closed his eyes when he saw Ginny Weasley's face appear in the reflection of the nearest droplet.

He had failed the girl. Again.

Climbing to his feet, Albus shot a half dozen Patroni into the sky, then spun on his heel and vanished.

 

* * *

 

_Headmaster's Office_

_Hogwarts_

 

Bill hit the doors with a snarl, slamming into the Headmaster's office and striding right up to the desk. His heart was pounding in his ears, red flashing over his vision, and he could feel sparks shooting through his veins as he struggled for control.

"You  _lost_  my  _sister_ ," he hissed at the stricken elder, his eyes flashing as Dumbledore looked solemnly back at him.

"Bill!" Shack's voice sounded from behind him, and Bill felt a hand on his arm. Without looking away from Dumbledore, Bill grabbed the other man's hand, bending his wrist back slightly, and he twisted then let go when he heard Shacklebolt let out a grunt.

Maybe Shack could have crushed him like a bug, but the bigger man just sighed and stepped back instead.

" _You_  said we couldn't go to the platform," Bill ground out, stepping closer to the desk. "Even though  _I_ am not on the wanted list yet,  _you_  said you would see to their safety. And you  _lost her_."

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply.

Bill drew a breath and stared at the older man.

"Bill," Lupin cut in suddenly, "sit  _down_."

Bill spun on his heel and glared at his friend, and Lupin just quirked a brow. He was standing by the fireplace, his eyes dark and angry, with Tonks to his right. Glancing around the room, he saw McGonagall watching him sadly, Snape glaring as usual, and Shack watching him with a mixture of grudging respect and annoyance.

Right. Calm. He could do calm.

He turned and conjured a chair, sitting down casually and turning to face Dumbledore. The Headmaster was watching him silently, his hands steepled on the desk.

"Want to explain how this happened?" he asked in a cold voice, and Dumbledore frowned.

"Harry and the others Ported off the train back to Shell Cottage when they realized Ginny was missing, as you know," Dumbledore began, and Bill nodded impatiently. He'd panicked when Harry burst into his dad's room saying Ginny was missing, and he'd bustled the kids through the Floo to Hogwarts and summoned Fleur to sit with his father. He had set every trap he could imagine on every possible entrance to the cottage before following.

And the whole time, he had been seething.

"Between the kid's statements and what Dumbledore found," Shack cut in, "Ginny found something on the train that concerned her, and she got off the train to go show it to Hermione, Ron and Harry. But for whatever reason, she ended up going further down the platform, alone."

"I started looking for Ginny as soon as Miss Granger's Patronus hit me," Dumbledore continued. "Instead, I found a little girl with a cracked skull and traces of Ginny's blood. My assumption is the child was Imperiused to attack Ginny with something that would disable her, so she could be more easily removed."

"So someone was able to get onto the platform and take Ginny away right under your nose," Bill hissed. "Maybe you shouldn't be in charge anymore, old man, you can't even keep the kids safe."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shack stiffen and Tonks shoot him an incredulous look. An image rose up in his mind – the kids sitting bound on his couch, a knife at Harry's throat, in his own  _living room_.

 _Hypocrite_ , he thought at himself angrily, and he shook his head, balling his fists as he struggled against the rising current in his veins.

"It was simply yet elegantly done," Dumbledore said softly, ignoring Bill's outburst. "Your sister is an extremely smart and capable young woman, but she has a protective streak. Using a child to lure her was brilliant strategy."

"That suggests, though," Lupin said softly, "that someone on the train planted something in hopes of getting one of the kids  _off_  the train and alone."

"It might not have been specifically aimed at her, either," Tonks added. "Let's face it, any of the kids would have done the same for a child."

"But now Ginny is in Ministry hands. Or worse," McGonagall said softly, and Bill let out another long, slow breath between clenched teeth.

"Right," he said sharply. "We already needed to find where they took the missing kids, but it just became priority number one. Not just for Ginny's sake – but because the other kids are in danger if Voldemort is gunning for her, and they're all trapped together with no defenses."

"Agreed," Shack rumbled, and Moody nodded in the corner.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked, looking at the dour man near the back of the room, and Bill glanced over at the Potions Master, who glared back at him.

"I will return as soon as I can," Snape said to Dumbledore, turning and stalking from the room.

As the Floo flared up and Charlie and his mother stepped through, the twins on their heels, Bill pushed to his feet and headed for Gryffindor Tower.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere in England_

 

Ginny sat up gingerly, her arms shaking as she rested her weight on her palms. She was lying in a dark cell, a small cot in the corner and a water dish on the floor.

 _Stupid_ , she thought angrily at herself.  _How could you be so stupid_?

A quick check showed her wand was gone, but reaching for her throat, Ginny smiled. The disguise on the communication pendant had worked. They hadn't found it.

She pushed carefully to her feet, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of life or a possible trap. Moving carefully to the edge of the bars, she peered down the hall for any sign of life. The cell seemed to be in a corner, and she couldn't see anyone in the space across from her. "Hello?" she whispered.

"Ginny?" a voice called back, and Ginny swallowed as Dean Thomas's voice echoed through the cell.

"Hi Dean," she replied shakily, and let out a tired sigh as she pressed her head to the bars. So she had found the missing students, or at least one of them.

Too bad she was trapped with them.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked confusedly. "I thought they were only taking Muggleborns."

"This isn't the Ministry, Dean," she said earnestly. "This is – "

A pair of shiny black boots appeared in her vision, and Ginny's voice trailed off as she looked up, meeting the cold blue eyes of her captor. Lucius Malfoy looked at her with a smile, his long blond hair tied back from his face and his cane held loosely between his fingers.

"Ginevra Weasley," Malfoy said smoothly. "What a pleasure to see you again."

* * *

 

_Slytherin Dorms_

_Hogwarts_

 

Draco Malfoy sat on his four-poster bed, a letter held in his shaking hands as he stared blankly at the curtains. He swallowed convulsively, closing his eyes before opening them again and looking back down at the letter.

No. Still real.

He was slated to be Marked at the end of the school year.

He balled the parchment in his fist and dug his nails into his palms, hissing as sharp pains shot through his hand. With a groan, he dropped the parchment and shoved his hands into his hair, dropping his head onto his knees and closing his eyes again.

Malfoys weren't slaves. Hadn't his father always told him that?

Letting out a shaky breath, he flattened out the letter again and stared contemplatively down at the words. _I have a gift for you_ , the second to last line read,  _although it is not cooperating on helping with the the next one_.

What  _gift_?

He threw himself back against the wall with a huff, closing his eyes again. No amount of diamonds or racing brooms would be enough to make him want a fucking  _brand_  on his arm.

Then his eyes popped open, and he shot back upright, grabbing the letter. The  _gift_  was not cooperating?

He stared blankly ahead again, his eyes narrowed on a random point on the wall, then he shot to his feet.

He'd always struggled with impulse control. That was how he usually got into trouble. From the day when he was seven that he'd destroyed his mother's prize roses when she wouldn't let him have a dog, to the day he decided to snarl at precious Potter for choosing a  _Weasley_  over him, he acted without thinking a lot of the time.

Which was probably how he found himself standing on the moving staircase in the Headmaster's Tower, that letter in his hand.

He  _hated_  Potter and his friends. Potter, the Know-It-All Mudblood, and their merry band of Blood Traitors, Loonies and Bumbling Fools. Every last one of them.

But he was still standing on that staircase.

The door slid open, and Draco looked up to see Dumbledore watching him patiently, an amused but questioning look on the Old Fool's face.

"Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster said genially. "This is unexpected. What can I do for you?"

Malfoy took one look at the Headmaster, swallowed, and shook his head. He shoved the letter back into his pocket with a shaking hand. "Nothing, Headmaster," he said evenly. "I've forgotten why I came here."

The Headmaster just gazed at him curiously, then smiled gently at him. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. Just remember, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

The man was a nutter. Right. That clinched it, then. Malfoy nodded blankly, gave the Headmaster a tight-lipped smile, then turned and headed back down to the dorms.

Once in his rooms, he closed himself back in the curtains and drew out a clean parchment.

_Father,_

_I am curious what gift you could have possibly gotten for me, so soon after I've just left for school. I am of course excited for the end of the year, and honored to hear that I have been chosen…_

 

* * *

 

_Defense Professor's Quarters_

_Hogwarts_

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat down in the leather armchair with a tired sigh, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he sipped slowly on the tumbler of whiskey. Merlin, but his first day as a teacher had been stressful.

The kids were rightly furious and shaken with the disappearance of Ginny Weasley. The kid was a firecracker, and no doubt, she'd prove difficult to subdue or wear down, but…

He shuddered as images of Brighton, the Ministry, Kent flashed through his mind, and he closed his eyes, willing the terrible scenes away.

But she was being held by the people who had done  _that_.

She was just a fucking kid.

Shack set the tumbler down with a sharp thud, rubbing his hand over his face as he sat up. Bill was right, they needed to find her and the other kids ahead of every other mission, but –

The truth was, if they had been able to find the kids, they would have already done something by now. They just didn't have enough to  _go_  on yet.

Snape's face flashed through his mind, and he heard the echo of Dumbledore's voice,  _Severus?_  His eyes narrowed and he pushed to his feet. There was no  _way_  Snape knew nothing about where the missing kids were being held. Absolutely no way.

 _You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment, boy_ , Moody's voice sounded in his mind, and Shack's lips twisted in a scowl. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't.

He moved quickly out of his quarters and headed down to the dungeons, trailing his wand along the wall as he searched for hollow spaces. It only took him about forty minutes to find the space that  _had_  to be Snape's chambers, and with a scowl, he Disillusioned himself and slipped into a corner to wait.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before the sound of stone grinding echoed through the corridor. As he watched, Snape stepped out of the room and into the hallway, his eyes narrowed as he looked up and down the hall. After a moment, the man turned on his heel and swept down the corridor, pausing as he came to the stairs. With an angry mutter that Shack couldn't quite hear, the man headed  _down_ , further into the dungeons, and Shack followed him from a distance.

They moved through winding passageways, the space becoming more and more dank and musty, and finally, cells came into view. As he watched, Snape tapped on the stones in the wall inside the fourth cell and disappeared through an opening. He settled back in the shadows again, waiting.

And when Snape reemerged and left, he didn't. Shack waited until the sound of the Potions Master's footsteps had faded completely before he moved, slipping carefully into the cell and shooting several little-known revealing spells at the wall. He grinned as one he'd learned from Moody hit the stones and glimmered, and carefully, he tapped on the stones in the order they lit up. The stones melted away, forming an opening in the wall, and Shack stepped through.

He stood in the center of a candle-lit room, small tables and shelves all around him. And all around him were pictures, hundreds upon hundreds of pictures of a smiling girl with auburn hair.

He stepped forward, feeling himself go cold as his eyes narrowed on the tables in the center. Those pictures weren't of Lily Potter. Those were –

And the rage hit, white hot and blinding, and Kingsley balled his hands into fists, a snarl escaping from between his clenched teeth. He had known. He had  _known_.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, and Shack spun around, too late, to see Severus Snape standing behind him, a chilling smile on the twisted man's face.

"Find anything interesting?" Snape asked softly, and Shack met the smaller man's eyes and raised his wand. Snape just looked pointedly down at Shack's feet, at the ring drawn on the ground.

The ring that he had stepped right into.

Everything went black.

* * *

~*~ALIBI


	11. The Hell Where Youth and Laughter Go

_Lower Level Dungeons_

_Hogwarts_

_September 1, 1996_

 

"I'll never understand how it's so nice and homey in my common room, but so  _dreary_  down here," Sue muttered, her eyes narrowed as she swept her wand back and forth across the halls. Beside her, Seamus snorted in agreement.

"Bloody creepy is what it is," he replied, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Sue eyed him nervously for a second, her gaze trained on his wand. When Seamus wasn't paying attention, he tended to accidentally shoot flames. She only had one class with the Gryffindors, and she  _still_  had seen him do so a dozen times before the D.A. had even started. At  _least_.

Smiling absently, Sue nodded. They had twenty more minutes on patrol before they would be relieved, and thirty minutes to make it to the next D.A. session. She hoped they were doing some offensive training – these days, if Hannah had to go a full twenty-four hours without breaking something, she was liable to have a meltdown.

Her heart twisted painfully as the night before flashed through her mind, going to bed to find Hannah curled up in the window in their now-shared room, eyes blankly staring off into the distance. She had tried for a good hour to get her best friend's attention with no luck, and finally just joined her there, sitting in silence. When she had gone to bed near two in the morning – they had to be alert on the platform, after all – Hannah still hadn't moved, hadn't spoken.

Almost every night had been that way, for weeks. The only time the other girl showed any emotion was when she was with Emily, or when she was fighting. Sue was terrified her best friend wasn't really  _in there_  anymore.

The feeling of being watched crept over her, and Sue shook her head and glanced over to see Seamus looking at her, an expectant expression on his face as though he was waiting for her to reply. When had they stopped walking? "I'm sorry," she murmured, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "I was distracted."

"I see that," the Irishman replied. "Good thing nobody attacked us down here," he scoffed, his usual mirth a little subdued.

Sue forced a small smile, shaking her head to clear it, and turned her attention back to the halls. They had almost reached the cell block, and the air was becoming dank and heavy with every step they took.

Her Auntie would be ashamed of her, letting her guard down on a patrol like that. After all, there were millions of hiding places in the castle – especially in the dungeons. And it wasn't as though they could say nothing bad had ever happened in the castle…

A sudden shuffling sounded through the darkness, and Sue stiffened, straightening her wand to aim it straight ahead of them. Reaching out with her free hand, she put a hand on Seamus's arm, shaking her head as the boy began to move forward. Seamus stopped dead in his tracks, his face unnaturally serious, and she quickly conjured a shield as they waited. What good reason would  _anyone_  have to be down this far in the dungeons, this late?

The shuffling noise turned to footfalls, and Sue stood perfectly still, staring down the hallway as she waited. Suddenly, a broad-shouldered bald man came into view, and Seamus let out a sigh of relief as Auror – Professor, she corrected herself – Shacklebolt stopped in front of them, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Sue? What are you doing down here?" her Auntie's long-time colleague asked, his brow furrowed as he lowered his wand.

"Patrolling, Professor," Seamus replied quickly. "You gave us a right scare!"

Shacklebolt –  _Professor_   _Shacklebolt_! Merlin, that was going to take some getting used to – grimaced slightly, carefully stowing his wand back in the holster. "Sorry, kids," he said with a wry grin. "I'm heading back up. Are you coming?"

Without waiting for a reply, he moved past them towards the exit. Sue turned her head and watched him go by – he had a nasty bump on the back of his head and scrapes on his neck. Dust and dirt clung to the back of his robes.

Something didn't feel right. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been a regular fixture since she was about six years old, and she'd never once seen the man drag his feet. Nor had she ever seen him with so much as a button out of place or speck of dust on his clothes outside of a fight or training. Something was  _wrong_.

But maybe not. Maybe she was just a paranoid cop's kid, as Justin often told her. Maybe…

 _Trust your instincts,_  her Auntie's voice echoed in her mind.

"What were you doing back there?" she questioned, and Seamus shot her a questioning look as she watched the Auror stop in his tracks. Seamus had already stowed his wand, but Sue didn't drop their invisible shield. An arm's length away, Shacklebolt turned his head slightly, looking back at them with a confused expression.

"I was patrolling," he said slowly, and Sue just looked at him.

"Did you find anything interesting?" the Hufflepuff asked lightly, and she watched Shacklebolt's brow furrow. The Auror-Professor hesitated before shaking his head.

"No, no one else down here," he said with an elegant shrug.

"What happened to your head?" she said quietly, and Shacklebolt reached back, pressing his fingers to the lump that was forming with a frown.

"Must have tripped," he chuckled, shaking his head. "There's a fair bit of stray bones and debris down that way."

 _Right. That settles it_. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a large man, that was true. But he was a  _graceful_  large man. There was no way he tripped.

Sue smiled at him softly. "Looks painful," she said sympathetically. "Why did you come down  _here_ , specifically?"

Seamus made a questioning sound at her side. She flicked her eyes over to him for a second, then looked back at Shacklebolt, who had turned and was looking at her with a bit of impatience.

"I don't know," the Auror said. "I haven't checked down here in a while, I suppose."

There was no other sound behind them, so maybe he  _had_  been the only one down there. But – Kingsley Shacklebolt would not be caught  _dead_  walking around with dirt all over his robes on a normal day. Nor would he usually let someone question him like that without the slightest reaction. She shook her head and smiled easily, dropping the shield as she moved towards him.

"We have a meeting to get to," she said softly, waving a hand at Seamus to follow. The Irishman was standing in the hallway with narrowed eyes, staring at her with undisguised puzzlement. When she shot him a look, he shook his head and followed them, drawing his wand back out of his sleeve and holding it lightly at his side. "We might as well go along."

Her Auntie's friend smiled at her, gesturing for her and Seamus to precede him down the hallway, and escorted them up to the main level. When they reached the first floor, he nodded once and disappeared down the corridor in the direction of the Defense classrooms.

As soon as his back was turned, Sue stopped in her tracks, staring after him with narrowed eyes.

"What the bloody hell, Sue?" Seamus asked with a scowl, and Sue shook her head.

"Come on," she muttered, and she took off for the Room of Requirement.

Going up seven flights of stairs should have taken ages, but she moved at a near-run, her mind racing. Behind her, she could hear Seamus swearing at her, muttering darkly about 'crazy birds.' She ignored the hot-headed Irishman, skidding to a halt outside the Room of Requirement with a gasp, then stopped dead in her tracks.

Maybe she was wrong. No reason to cause a panic.

As Seamus doubled over next to her, hands on his knees and head hanging down, Sue opened the door and moved quickly into the training room, her eyes scanning the room.

"Where's Hermione?" she demanded as Neville straightened up from the opposite corner, where he had been stacking bean bags.

"On an Order project," the stocky boy replied, raising an eyebrow. He set down the bean bag in his hands and turned towards her, brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

She glanced around the room quickly. Luna had set down the scroll she was reading and was watching them curiously. Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen, and no one else had arrived yet.

"It could be nothing," she said slowly, "but…"

"What, Sue?" Neville asked again, his eyes narrowing.

"We ran into Shack in the lower dungeons," she said quietly. "He had a lump on his head and the back of his robes were covered in dirt. I asked him if he'd found anything down there, and he said no. But…"

"Couldn't remember why he'd gone down there, either," Seamus added, shooting a glance at Sue as he finally caught up with her train of thought. "Was bloody weird, mate."

Sue bit her lip and said nothing. Really, the boy hadn't realized anything was wrong until she didn't drop the shield.

"Memory charm?" Neville muttered to Luna, who had moved to stand next to him, and the blonde Ravenclaw frowned.

"Not many students that would be strong enough," the girl replied. "Especially as it's Kingsley. He has a very organized mind."

"Are you sure?" Neville asked Sue, staring at her steadily, and Sue shook her head.

"It's not like I could check," she said honestly. "I don't know how. But when I asked him where he got the lump, he looked surprised, and said he must have  _tripped_."

Even Luna's dreamy face went grave at that. With the exception of Seamus, who had only been around him two or three times that summer, they all knew that Kingsley Shacklebolt  _tripping_  was as likely as a Dementor taking up ballet.

Seamus raised an eyebrow, but Neville shook his head. As she watched Neville's face change, Sue felt a chill in the air.

"You and I both know who it was," he said lowly, and Luna blinked at him.

"Hermione trusts him," she whispered, and Neville scoffed.

"Hermione is wrong."

"Excuse me," Sue cut in, "but if someone memory charmed Shacklebolt, what are we going to do about it?"

"I'll call Dora," Luna murmured, and she moved quickly from the room.

"There must be something down there," Sue said stubbornly, glaring at Neville.

"We'll get to the bottom of it," he said as the door behind her opened. The stocky Gryffindor stepped closer as the other D.A. members started to trickle into the room, lowering his voice even further. "Stay on the alert in Potions class from here on."

 _Potions? But…_ Sue bit her lip, watching Neville closely. "Auntie says that Dumbledore vouched for him," she replied softly, and Neville just looked at her evenly, then stepped around her and moved toward the front of the room. As he stepped onto the dias, Hannah appeared at her elbow, looking back and forth between her, Seamus, and Neville with narrowed eyes.

"What's going on?" Hannah whispered, and Sue shook her head.

"Tonight, we're going to be working on striking spells," Neville called from the front of the room, as the D.A. settled in. "Get in your squadrons and – "

"Tell you later," Sue whispered back, and Hannah frowned at her before turning her attention to the stage. Sue shot a look at Seamus, and the normally boisterous boy was frowning, his eyes dark and troubled. She squeezed his arm lightly, and he bumped his shoulder with hers, nodding at her solemnly when she met his gaze.

They would be ready.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

"It should be simple enough to create," Hermione said earnestly, "just… time-consuming."

Bill snorted as he held the door to his workshop open. "Time-consuming," he muttered back. "You mean we'll be here all  _night_ , and that's  _if_  it works."

Hermione bit back a heated retort. She already knew the cursebreaker's temper had been stretched thin for weeks, and lord knew he had enough to worry about.

Her nerve-endings prickled as she followed Bill into the workshop. She was exhausted, her hands trembling, and a pounding headache was starting to form behind her eyes. She was so worn out she'd even let the glamours slip for the time being. They just required too much energy to maintain, energy she couldn't spare if she were going to help her friend.

 _You shouldn't be here,_ her Snape-sounding inner voice echoed, and she bit her lip, shooting a glance at Bill. The cursebreaker was moving through the room, tapping his wand along the walls and whispering under his breath. She watched him for a moment then frowned, turning to study her surroundings.

The space they were in was massive, putting her in mind of the tent from the Quidditch World Cup.  _Expansion charms_ , she thought to herself. A long table lined the far wall, a single armchair beside it. Her eyes narrowed as she took in shelf after shelf of books surrounding her, some bound in leather, some in – she felt bile rise in her throat and shook her head.

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Jewels, crystals, and statues littered the space, some arranged in clear patterns, some artfully displayed. She was deathly curious about the ones she saw tucked  _behind_  books, however – those  _had_  to be the interesting ones.

But there wasn't any time to explore. Ginny needed her. Hopefully, Bill would let her back into his domain another time. She was certain there were dozens, if not  _hundreds_  of useful bits of hidden knowledge in this room.

"All we have to do is reverse the beacon," she replied. "If it works, which it  _should_ ," she shot him a look, "we'll be able to pinpoint her exact location."

"And rain Order members down on it." The eldest Weasley son stalked toward the back of the shop, twirling his wand idly in his left hand as he moved. He stopped just before a steel door, reaching out and pressing his fingers against a mirror on the wall. As Hermione watched, bars and doors dropped down from the ceiling, sliding into place and blocking off all the shelves they had just passed.

She looked at him silently, and Bill just shrugged. "Don't want anything to get damaged," he said lightly.

 _Uh-huh_ , Hermione thought, then shook her head. Bill was probably the most paranoid person she'd ever  _met_ , even  _counting_  Moody. He'd muffled his voice when he'd said the ward key to open the door. He was hiding everything in the shop and –

And she could feel it, just like she had every time she'd been at Shell Cottage that summer, getting stronger and stronger. That sense of unease, of mistrust.

Maybe there was an artifact at the cottage that she could feel. Maybe something had affected her.

_Maybe it's just him. Maybe you're paying attention._

Glancing over to the right, she froze as she saw the empty cell, cot still inside.

Bill followed her gaze to the cell, then frowned lightly. Turning on his heel, the older man pulled the heavy door open, propping it against the wall and raising an eyebrow at her. Hermione peered beyond him into the room and stepped through. It looked to be a normal ritual set-up, small altar, low stone table, cauldron in the corner.

And out of the corner of her eye, a soft blue light shone. She turned her head and moved towards the light, staring at vial after vial of –

 _Memories_ , she realized shakily, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over the hundreds of vials, all carefully arranged in a small cabinet. Whose  _memories_  were those, and why were they  _hidden_  all the way in the back of an already guarded workshop?

She stood perfectly still, staring at the collection of memories in horror. The Mind Arts were the one magic she  _didn't_  want to master – the mind was sacred, and to her, it was nothing less than a violation to trespass on another's mind. So many things that Bill had been doing raised alarms in her mind, but  _this_  –

 _This_  was –

Logically speaking, she knew that they would have to do terrible things in a war. Hadn't she told Kingsley as much herself? But something was just –

She felt a heavy gaze on her and glanced back over her shoulder to see Bill watching her evenly. "You don't want to know," he said simply, and Hermione bit back a scoff.

Hermione couldn't claim to know the man behind her well – she'd been around him only a handful of days before the last few months – but she had seen enough to know something was different with him. Something was  _off_ , and she couldn't let it go.

But this was  _Bill Weasley_ , big brother extraordinaire, genius, and all-around general good guy. When her parents had been memory charmed, he'd been the last one awake and sitting with her, the one that just waited until she finally broke down and cried, that sat on the couch and let her weep on his shoulder for hours. He was the one who had seen Ron struggling to sleep and put his foot down, demanding someone help him cope with the memories. He was the one who had refused to leave Luna living alone at the Rookery all summer, and had pushed Tonks to take her in. He was the one had noticed Harry getting more and more withdrawn, had taken action to help him, had found a way to make him  _breathe_  and  _relax_ , for crying out loud. He was the one who had literally staked his life on the job of keeping Harry  _alive_  –

So why couldn't she shake this  _voice_? Was something  _making_  her feel so unsettled, or was it really because of him?

Spinning on her heel, she pinned the older man with a steely glare. "What is going on?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly as she stood there. "What  _happened_ to you?"

Bill's gaze narrowed and his face went blank. Moving slowly, he stepped all the way into the room, letting the steel door slam shut behind him. Hermione didn't move, standing with one hand in her pocket, watching him warily. The cursebreaker was staring steadily at her, not blinking. Was he reading her mind?

 _Get out of here_ , the dark voice whispered in her mind,  _you shouldn't be alone with this man._ Hermione shook her head.

Suddenly, Bill grinned. "Well," he shrugged, laughing slightly, "I already knew you were daring. Ever thought about going into curse-breaking?"

Hermione stared. The voice in her mind went silent.

 

* * *

 

_The Leaky Cauldron_

_London, England_

 

"Do you ever think, Georgie, that we're wasting our lives?" Fred asked conversationally, twirling his wand between his fingers as his brother stared steadily at the entrance to the Leaky.

George just grunted.

They stood on the street corner in Muggle London, hovering in the dark. George and Tonks had called it a 'stake-out,' but Fred preferred to think of it as the eight circle of Hell.

Honestly, who could stand in one spot for  _so long_  without going mad? And people wondered why there were serial killers.

"I mean, here we stand, at the behest of our little brother, who basically runs an army," he continued, waving his hands dramatically for emphasis. George cut his eyes Fred's direction for a second, then turned back to the Leaky.

"And here we are, at the mercy of a complete stranger," George replied lightly, shrugging as he rubbed a hand across his forehead. His twin's stony expression finally cracked as he yawned, and ahead of them, the door swung open. "Ever miss the good ol' days?" he asked with a grin. "Back when all we had to worry about was Mum finding out we had detention?"

"You mean before Harry came to school?" Fred scoffed. "Nah. Things are way more interesting." Fred shoved upright from where he'd been leaning on the lamppost. "Hang on," he muttered, eyes narrowed. The man who had walked into the street was moving quickly, his head down, and dressed in an impeccable Muggle suit – but like Tonks had warned them to watch for, it was a bit  _too_  posh.

He stared after the man heading down the street, then raised his wand and shot a spell at the window the man was passing. The reflection sharpened and he let out a hiss between his teeth.

"Excellent," Fred muttered, a wolfish grin appearing on his face. His twin nodded sharply, face twisted in a grimace, and as one, they straightened and followed the man slowly through the city. The man was walking with an unhurried gait, arms swinging loosely at his sides. Nothing at all like the contained, calculated movements they regularly saw from Shack, Lupin, even Tonks when she wasn't tripping over something.

Maybe the man was a traitor. Maybe he was Imperiused. All Fred knew was that he had vanished right about the time Ginny had been taken.

So he really didn't give a damn if the man was innocent or not.

"Hold up," George said suddenly, grabbing his arm, and Fred stopped in his tracks as his twin pulled him behind a tree. Ahead, he saw the Auror pause mid-step, his eyes narrowed and his ponytail swinging as he looked up and down the street before ducking through the door of a shadowy tavern.

"Isn't that where Tonks said – ?"

"Yeah," George nodded, face twisted in a scowl. "It's a wanna-be Death Eater clubhouse."

"Right, then," Fred replied shortly, drawing his wand from his sleeve. He took a step forward and George grabbed him again, dragging him back.

"What if  _she_  is in there?" George hissed angrily, his face pale beneath the freckles. "Not to mention, Freddy, there's the matter of the  _price on our heads_!"

Fred's hands started to shake, and he shoved them in his pockets, glaring at his twin. "He might know where Gin is," he whispered back. "I can't just – "

"Ron said to follow him  _only_ ," George continued like he hadn't even spoken. "Do you want to make them have to rescue us too?"

"They won't  _need_  to," Fred said stubbornly, wrenching his arm from George's grip. "We can do this, George."

"We're not  _soldiers_ , Fred!"

Fred met his twin's eyes. He tried to think of something witty, some joke to make to cut the tension, but nothing came to him. All he saw was tiny eleven year old Ginny, pale and still in a hospital bed.

"It's time we learn," Fred said calmly, and he spun on his heel and crossed the street, slipping quietly through the double doors. He felt a chill run through him as George followed, and the tavern went silent as everyone in the room turned and stared. From a table near the center, three men – almost Hagrid's size – rose and started to move towards them, cracking their knuckles menacingly.

So maybe he should have listened to George. What else was new? Hopefully, Ron wouldn't  _kill_  them if they ended up dead.

"Right," Fred said loudly as George began to swear at his shoulder. "We just need to talk to  _that_  guy," he explained in his most chipper voice, gesturing towards Williamson, glaring from the bar. "No need to get all grouchy. We'll just collect him and be on our way."

The three goliaths continued to skulk towards him, and Fred cringed. Behind him, he heard George whisper, "For Merlin's  _sake_." A rustling sounded and then a cloud of black powder sailed past his face, and everyone shouted as the room went dark.

Fred burst out laughing and dove into the darkness.

And their mum had said their inventions were a waste of talent.

 

* * *

 

_Hirta Island, St. Kilna_

_Outer Hebrides, Scotland_

 

"Hours," Charlie griped, swatting at a branch that had bounced back in his face. "We've been traipsing around blindly for  _hours_."

Alastor grunted at him, eyes narrowed as he watched the dragonkeeper stomp through the woods. "We'll find something eventually," he replied, unscrewing the cap on his flask and taking a quick sip. He held out the flask to Charlie, and the younger man shook his head with a scowl. Moody shrugged and closed his drink, stowing it back on his side. "Any place this well hidden is worth finding."

"My  _sister_  is worth finding," Charlie almost snarled, and Moody felt a flash of pity. An image of the little redheaded girl glaring at him, her hair shorn almost to the scalp, flashed through his mind.

"Aye, that she is," he agreed, clapping Charlie on the shoulder. The younger man tensed, shrugging him off, and Moody pretended not to notice. "But Bill and Granger are working on a way to find her, and we might as well be useful while we wait for a target."

Charlie muttered darkly then stomped off ahead. Moody stood watching the younger man, his good eye narrowed as the night grew colder.

Everyone called him a paranoid bastard, and he knew it. Hell, he  _was_  a paranoid bastard. It stood to reason – one could only be betrayed so many times in a forty-plus year career before he stopped trusting people. And coming from his family, seeing what he'd seen growing up, he wasn't the most trusting person in the world to begin with. It was only natural, being a Moody. When made famous for being a warrior against the darkness before even stepping into Hogwarts, before even picking up a wand, trusting others became a luxury that could not be afforded.

When he was around the Order, the core members, he was the closest to relaxed he could remember since he was an eleven year old Slytherin, watching his older housemates slowly get sucked into a web of intrigue and fantasy. Dodging spells and curses being sent his way, for no reason other than his name.

His family had been dead for ages. The Order was the closest thing he had to a family. But something had been setting alarm bells off in his head lately. Something was  _off_.

He moved through the underbrush quietly, eyes narrowed on the back of Charlie's head. He flattered himself that he knew the Weasley family well. Years of helping Arthur to cover his tracks and keeping even Scrimgeour from knowing he knew – his attempts to recruit first Bill, then Charlie – he'd been watching the Weasley family for a long time. Though the family hadn't been active in the first war, most of them being tots or in nappies, he'd been around Art for decades, had seen these kids grow up.

Charlie Weasley was a gregarious boy. He was energetic, excitable, and generally rambunctious. But he'd never been an  _angry_  boy.

Maybe it was the stress of the war, worry for his family. After all, not everyone was meant to be a soldier.

Maybe it was something else.

All Alastor knew was, Charlie Weasley's mood had been  _off_  since they had found him in the mud on the banks of the River Thames.

Even Tonks had noticed something. She had gone to him days ago, complaining that Charlie seemed to be getting tired and impatient more easily. She was worried about her friend, hoping he would talk to the boy and see if he was alright.

Moody was more than worried. They'd done every possible check while he was in the hospital wing. They'd run every test. There was no indication that Charlie was compromised in any way.

But he couldn't shake the image of Charlie grabbing Tonks' arm, begging them not to 'bring' him. Something was just  _off_.

And with Arthur down for Merlin knew how long, with Bill distracted with the Potter boy and now finding his sister – who else was gonna watch out for the kid?

A raven Patronus soared through the trees. "Over here!" Scrimgeour's voice echoed, cutting through his reverie, and Charlie spun around sharply, his eyes wide and frantic. A ray of light shined through the trees, coming from at least two miles to their east. Moody paused just long enough to let Charlie precede him, falling into step behind the younger man. They wound through the trees, path completely abandoned, Charlie crashing through the underbrush without the slightest regard for stealth. After fifteen minutes of running, they came to a halt at the mouth of a cavern, and Charlie doubled over, hands on his knees, and glared as Moody looked patiently between Lupin and Scrimgeour.

The lycanthrope was standing perfectly still, eyes fixed on the cavern opening. A couple paces to his left, Scrimgeour had his wand up, trained on the open space ahead. Dozens of little stars circled the other man's head, lighting up the clearing in which they stood. And under his feet – the pathway that had led them to search the woods in the first place, small pillars lined up along either side.

"Alright," Alastor growled. "Did you find something in there?"

Scrimgeour snorted. "We haven't gone  _inside_  yet. It was hidden," he replied. "Looked like more woods, same illusion Bill broke to find the pathway. That one  _smelled_  it." He gestured at Lupin with a slight scowl, his face twisting in distaste.

"The air smelled different," Lupin said absently, his eyes still fixed on the cavern.

"Good work," Moody grunted, ignoring Scrimgeour's slight shudder. He didn't have time for his former house-mate's hang-ups. "Alright, there could be all manner of nasties in there, so everyone at the ready." Taking a deep breath, he moved to Lupin's side, then stepped forward into the mouth of the cavern. A sudden shock travelled up his body, starting in his feet, then branching off and racing through his bones. As Charlie shouted behind him, he looked down to see a soft blue glow emanating from the ground beneath him. He opened his mouth, struggling to speak, but a croaking sound slipped out, and he swallowed roughly. Clenching his teeth, he struggled to lift his arm –

The air swirled before him, and a glowing specter appeared in the air, the ghostly basilisk hovering in front of him, its snout almost touching his face. Behind it, a dozen smaller creatures appeared – snakes, birds, even a couple insects – in a half-circle formation. The basilisk stared at him, a continual stream of hissing echoing from its form. Finally, it seemed to nod to itself, then flickered and vanished, and the air before them shimmered. Moody felt the shock begin to recede and lurched forward, gasping, and fell against Charlie's side as the younger man propped him up.

Alastor stared as the cave seemed to grow transparent, ripples running down the rockfaces like dripping paint. A brilliant light flashed, and the cave disappeared. In its place was a giant stone door, etched with dozens upon dozens of runes.

Moody swallowed, then nodded to himself. "Right," he grunted. "We'll need to come back with Bill and Potter – and a bigger team. Mark this spot somehow."

He turned on his heel and shoved past Charlie, stomping off into the woods.

He didn't have  _near_  enough drink in his flask to stay on the accursed island a moment longer than he had to.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere in England_

 

 _It's only pain_. Ginny gritted her teeth as she hung against the wall, the sharp metal cutting into her wrists.  _It's only pain. You can handle pain_. Her side was burning, the slashes along her ribs still flowing freely, and the sound of her own blood splashing on the ground echoed through the dark space. In front of her, Lucius Malfoy smiled, lowering his wand.

"Truthfully, Ginevra," the aristocrat murmured, "I have dreamed of hearing your screams since I first learned that _you_  were the reason my master wasn't reborn sooner. That you had thwarted his plans with the Chamber." Reaching down, the man straightened his cuffs, idly glancing at her as he spoke. "Really, was it so difficult to just kill a couple mudbloods? That was all we needed, just enough to get the school shut down."

A chill ran down her spine, and Ginny swallowed roughly as blood bubbled up between her teeth. Now she  _really_ had to escape. There was something else in the school, and nobody knew. She drew a sharp breath then spat at the man's feet, blood flecking his robes. Malfoy simply grimaced, stepping back with a slight huff. "You're never getting into that school again," she hissed at him, gasping.

Malfoy smiled again. "I wouldn't be so sure," he said softly, raising his wand again.

"Luciussss," a voice echoed through the cell, and Ginny froze as Malfoy turned, his wand immediately dropping to his side. "Get her down."

"My Lord," Malfoy said in a grating drawl, "surely – "

"Down," Voldemort repeated, and Ginny watched as the monster himself swept into her cell, robes billowing around him, feet not quite touching the ground. In the back of her mind, Tom Riddle's voice began to whisper.

From behind him, Pettigrew appeared. The cowardly man scurried over to her, reaching up and releasing the chains that held her to the wall. Ginny landed roughly on her feet, stumbling as her knees tried to give out beneath her. The rat's hand clamped like iron around her arm, hauling her into an upright position. She shook her matted hair back from her face, raised her head, and met glowing red eyes without flinching.

Voldemort smiled, revealing sharp, pointed teeth, and gestured imperiously. "Get her a chair," he murmured, and Pettigrew drew his wand, conjuring a small, rickety wooden chair. As she watched, Voldemort raised an eyebrow, then with a wave of his hand, the chair became a squashy, blood red armchair.

 _At least I won't stain it_ , she thought inanely, as Pettigrew shoved her down into the chair then stepped back, hands wringing. The cringing man moved to stand behind her to her right, with Malfoy hesitating for a moment, then gliding over to her left, his eyes narrowed on her face the whole time.

Voldemort conjured his own chair and sat gracefully, leaning back and watching her silently for a time. His eyes travelled up the length of her body and Ginny suppressed a shudder.  _You'll always be mine_ , Riddle's voice echoed in her mind.

"I wish to tell you a story," Voldemort said finally, and Ginny scoffed.

"I've heard enough of your stories, thanks," she spat, and Voldemort simply chuckled.

"You'll appreciate this one," he whispered, and Ginny glared at him. "Once upon a time, in an orphanage far away, lived a special little boy."

 _Merlin_ , Ginny thought angrily, meeting Voldemort's gaze evenly as blood began to pool in her lap.  _Kill me now_.

The monster's eyes flashed with amusement.

 _But we've so much to accomplish together yet_ , his voice echoed in her mind, and Ginny's blood ran cold.

 

* * *

 

_The Chamber of Secrets_

_Hogwarts_

 

"This is pointless," Ron muttered, tossing another book to the ground. "Honestly, Harry, why aren't we just storming Malfoy Manor? You  _know_  that's where they're keeping her."

"Dobby says otherwise," Harry replied immediately, eyes narrowed as he ran his hand down another page. "If Hermione can't create a tracker on the pendant, we need another way. I  _know_  I saw a blood tracking spell in here somewhere."

" _Blood_  magic," Ron groaned, shoving his hands into his hair. He clenched his fists so hard his vision started to grey, and he let go with a shaky breath. "We can't  _do_  that."

"Hermione can," Harry said shortly. He pulled another book over to himself across the narrow room, dragging another to himself with an absent wave of his hand. "If she can't, Bill can. If  _he_  can't, Dumbledore can."

"Harry," Ron gulped, shaking his head. "I can't – " The redheaded Gryffindor trailed off, staring blankly off into space.

Harry felt a sharp rush of sadness and pity. "I know," he whispered.

"She's my  _sister_ , Harry."

"We'll  _find_  her," Harry murmured, and Ron turned red-rimmed eyes his way. "We'll find her," he repeated.

Ron stared at him for a moment, then nodded sharply, moving back across the room. "Right," he muttered, throwing himself back into a chair. He dragged another book towards himself and began rifling through the pages, eyes narrowed on the hastily translated text. "Tell me again what you remember about this blasted spell."

 

* * *

 

_Little Hangleton Cemetery_

_Little Hangleton, England_

_September 2, 1996_

 

The hour after midnight was his favorite.

Augustus Rookwood stood silently in the graveyard, his eyes narrowed as he stared down the rows of headstones. A pair of Dementors flanked him, the robed creatures floating like silent sentries. In the back of his mind, the screams of his baby brother echoed.

Rookwood's lips twisted in a humorless smile. The memories of the past had stopped hurting him long ago. And to be truthful, he rather liked the chill the Dementors gave off. Formal robes could be so  _stuffy_. It was nice to get some relief.

He wished he weren't doing this alone. Was it so much to ask for some company? Malfoy would rather torture the whelp. Dolohov was off in Muggle London, probably spelling some poor woman to look like the mudblood girl before he played with her.

Theodore would appreciate the beauty, the artistry, of what he was about to do. Augustus wished Nott weren't still in blasted  _Germany_.

With a shake of his head, he set off down the rows, carefully counting out the graves. The calculations had to be precise, the timing perfect – one  _tenth_  of an ounce off, and he would end up with nothing but a bunch of reanimated body parts flopping around, like undead fish out of water.

Amusing though that image was, it wasn't all that practical a battle plan.

It had taken him the better part of six months to get everything in order. Not having his former contacts made everything so much more  _difficult_ , not to mention the fact that the Department had been thoroughly cleaned out before the Ministry was reduced to smoldering ashes. Arthur had to have known what he would be after, and he had been smarter and faster. They always  _had_  been closely matched, and only Augustus's general ruthlessness had ever given him an advantage.

But his best friend had grown hard while he'd been… away.

Rookwood smiled again as Arthur's face flashed through his mind. They had been inseparable once, and he liked to think he was the one behind the other man's success. The true genius behind the throne, so to speak. All those late nights huddled together in a heavily warded room, going over recruitment files and protocols. The building of a hidden empire, right under the Ministry's nose.

He was fairly certain Arthur would never forgive him for turning 'traitor.' Honestly, didn't the fact that Voldemort had never learned of his  _true_  job get a man  _any_  credit?

Augustus paused next to the grave of a sixteenth century Weasley ancestor, frowning absently. Perhaps he didn't have to raise  _every_  –

But no. The Dark Lord had been clear.

There weren't many lines left to cross any longer, anyhow. He'd trampled most of them beneath his stylish boots over the years. What was one more?

Shaking his head absently, he reached into his robes and withdrew a small phial, filled with a glittering black liquid. He held the phial up in front of his eyes, peering absently at the contents.

It was a beautiful thing, for something so terrible. The black liquid had the thick consistency of ink, a brilliant sheen to it, and little sparkling pinpricks of light dotted the surface. It was almost like staring at a liquid container of the night sky, riddled with stars.

He wanted to keep it, to study it longer, to –

But he sighed, unstoppered the phial, and poured the liquid out onto the ground. As it seeped down into the soil, he knelt gracefully, pressing his wand lightly to the earth.

With a slight murmur, he sent a soft orange glow into the dirt, and the liquid grew, spreading across the cemetery and sinking into every grave.

He stood smoothly, slid his wand back into his sleeve, and nodded resolutely.

Change required sacrifice. One day, Arthur would understand.

 

* * *

 

_Tonks Cottage_

_Sandwood Bay, Scotland_

 

_Snarls echoed through his ears as he stood in the darkness, staring at the door. He jabbed his wand roughly, sending talismans and artifacts soaring through the air into a giant burlap sack. Beside him, the door rattled on its hinges, and it flew inward, dead things scuttling towards him like crabs. A rotted face leaned towards him, its empty eye sockets fixed on his face, and its unhinged jaw opened wide – The tree flashed through his mind –_

"Breathe, Arthur, breathe," a warm voice echoed softly through the room, and Arthur gasped as a sharp pain stabbed through his ribs.

Arthur blinked rapidly in the darkness, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He struggled to slow his breathing, hands shaking at his sides as he gasped harshly. A pair of soft hands rubbed his shoulders lightly and with a groan of pain, he reached up and squeezed his wife's fingers lightly, forcing a smile.

He blinked again and colors finally formed before his eyes, swirling madly before settling. He closed his eyes against the light, groaning again, then opened his eyes slowly as he heard the  _woosh_  of the torches going out.

His wife smiled at him gently, looking down at him with red-rimmed eyes. She shifted closer to his bedside, pulling his arm down to rest at his side, and clasped his hand between both of hers. Leaning forward, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and Arthur let out a sigh.

He closed his eyes again, drawing a steadying breath, then opened them and stared searchingly at his wife. "The Ministry," he said hoarsely, and her smile faded.

"You got out," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "That's all that matters."

"No," Arthur replied, shaking his head. His skin felt raw, down his neck and all along his collarbone, like he was lying on sandpaper. "Did they get anything?"

"Get anything?" Molly frowned, looking at him in confusion. "I don't – "

"You succeeded," a stern voice sounded behind them, and Molly spun sharply as Scrimgeour strode into the room. Arthur turned his head as far as he could, meeting the grizzly man's tawny eyes. "The Ministry is nothing but ashes, so it's rather difficult to search," he continued, "but Bill and I inventoried the items you brought. You retrieved everything that would have done harm."

Arthur felt a thrill of relief rush through his veins, dropping his head back further onto the pillow as the strength ebbed out of his body. He closed his eyes and let out another shaky breath.

"You should know," the Auror continued, his voice low, "that Fudge has declared you and your entire family traitors. The Burrow was raided and burned to the ground."

Arthur's eyes flew open.

Beside him, he felt Molly gather herself. His wife forced a smile, leaning over him and squeezing the still-raw flesh of his arm. "We'll rebuild," Molly whispered to him reassuringly. "It was a wonderful home, but we are still together. We can start again."

He placed his hands flat on the mattress to either side of himself and shoved upright on shaking arms. "Arthur!" Molly gasped, moving her hands to his shoulder, and he shrugged her off impatiently, eyes fixed on Scrimgeour's face.

" _Just_  the house?" he demanded, and Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed.

"The grounds nearest the building were damaged," the Auror replied slowly. "We were able to stop the spread."

So perhaps… but the house was gone. That meant, unless Bill had added something he didn't know about –  _which he probably did_ , he thought dully – the wards were down.

He spun suddenly, swinging his legs off the bed. His wand lay on the endtable beside him and he snatched it up, shoving it into his pajama pocket. Molly made a sound of protest and he shoved her hands away. "Move," he said brusquely.

His wife stared at him, her hands falling limply at her sides. Arthur felt a pang of regret. He hadn't taken such a tone with her in over nine years.

He'd have to get her flowers.

Molly stepped back, tears swimming in her eyes, and folded her arms across her chest, hunching over slightly. Arthur pushed himself to his feet on shaking legs, taking several halting steps towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scrimgeour shoot a look at Molly before the other man moved forward, carefully grabbing Arthur's left arm and swinging it over his shoulder. He tucked himself into Arthur's side, taking some of his weight, and Arthur grunted an absent thanks as some of the fire eased in his legs.

"Where are we going, old chap?" Scrimgeour asked quietly, and Arthur scowled.

"Orchard," he hissed, and he saw Molly freeze.

His wife pressed her hands to her mouth, then lowered them slowly. He turned his head to look at her, quirking an eyebrow, and Molly stared back, fear and anger warring on her pretty face.

"Arthur," she said lowly, "what is out there? What did you have near my  _children_?"

He felt Scrimgeour tense at his side, but he didn't reply, shaking his pounding head instead. Lurching forward, he led the way out of the room, and the other man helped him down a flight of stairs and out onto a beach.

Christ, even the touch of the wind on his skin hurt.  _When you do something, old boy, you do it right_ , he thought humorlessly. Closing his eyes, he pictured the orchard in his mind, and he felt Scrimgeour push his power into the effort. They vanished, appearing in the wooded grove, and Arthur's knees buckled beneath him. He landed roughly on the ground, his breath coming out in a pained hiss, and he heard Scrimgeour mutter apologies behind him.

The Auror cupped his hands under Arthur's elbows, pulling him up, and Arthur shrugged him off lightly, stepping forward towards the knotted tree, his heart pounding in his throat. If his hiding place had been uncovered – if the chest had been found –

The war was already lost.

He lowered himself carefully to the ground, kneeling before the tree, and pressed his hand to the knot lowest on the trunk. With a sigh, he dug his palm into the bark, feeling the wood slice his hand, and his blood seeped into the tree. The trunk seemed to shimmer a moment before the knot faded, and Arthur's hand rested on a small, cherrywood box tucked into the tree.

Behind him, Scrimgeour let out a surprised grunt.

Arthur closed his eyes, leaning his head on the tree as he sagged in relief. He quickly cracked open the lid, peering inside, before shutting the chest with a  _snap_. Turning slightly, he looked up at Scrimgeour with a frown. "Do you have a dagger?" he asked quietly, and the other man quirked an eyebrow then nodded. The Auror reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a long, narrow silver blade. He held the blade out hilt first, and Arthur glanced at the dagger a moment before accepting.

He wished his old friend would get over that fear.

Turning back to the tree, Arthur let out a steady breath then held the dagger to his left forearm, pressing down roughly. His skin split open and he hissed as blood welled up on his arm. "What the devil – " Scrimgeour muttered behind him. Arthur didn't reply, just pointed his wand at the chest and focused, sweat beading up on his forehead. The chest glowed brightly, then hovered in the open space. Slowly, it began to shrink, and Arthur plucked the tiny chest out of the air and set it on the cut on his arm. Another whispered spell had the tiny box sinking into his skin, and Arthur swallowed as he felt the magic racing through his body. Whispers prang up in his mind and he closed his eyes, swaying on the spot as he swallowed harshly. Behind him, he heard a rustling sound, and Scrimgeour's hands banded under his arms again.

"What do you need to do?" the Auror asked woodenly, and Arthur opened his eyes. The pain vanished.

"Seal it," he whispered. Images flashed before his mind – a wood, a boulder, a lake – golden hair and a crown of wildflowers… He swallowed roughly again as he felt the skin on his arm knit together, and the thrumming in his veins continued. His magic surged up in his chest and his mind raced, everything he'd ever seen or done coming to the forefront. He saw his eldest brother, looking down on him as a baby – his mother, crying at his wedding – baby Ginny crying in his arms, a tiny little bundle wrapped in a soft yellow blanket –

A heavy silence fell over them as Arthur knelt there, struggling to breathe normally, and Scrimgeour held him upright with his hands under Arthur's arms. After several moments, Arthur cleared his throat and shook his head, and Scrimgeour stepped back. He pushed to his feet, shakiness gone, then leaned down and spelled the cover back onto the tree again, turning to face the Auror.

Scrimgeour's tawny eyes were dark and troubled, and Arthur shot him a lopsided smile. The other man had seen him do any number of deadly and foolhardy things over the years, but never had he seen him hide an unknown artifact in his own skin.

 _I'm not mad_ , he thought angrily, as Scrimgeour continued to stare at him.

"What is that?" the other man asked finally, and Arthur shook his head.

"I'm going to hide this," he replied instead, his voice still cracking, "somewhere only you or I can reach. If I die, you  _must_  find it and move it somewhere else, and make sure someone  _you_  trust implicitly can reach it in case of your death.  _Nothing_  is more important than protecting this chest."

Scrimgeour watched him evenly, eyes narrowed. Arthur stared calmly back, and after a long moment, the Auror nodded.

"Where to now?" he asked simply, and Arthur smiled.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

"I don't know how they figured it out," Tonks muttered darkly. "But I'm bloody well positive they are right. Someone  _Obliviated_  him."

" _Since_  he's been at the school?" Bill asked, his eyes narrowed, and Tonks nodded.

"I talked to him right after the kids arrived," she answered, scowling down into her scotch. "He was completely normal."

"That's unsettling," Bill murmured, staring into the fire. "Do you really think we need to wonder who did it?"

Tonks snorted. She tossed her head back and downed her glass in one go, cradling the empty tumbler in her hands. "The question is  _why_."

Bill fell silent. With a shake of his head, he pushed to his feet and started pacing the room, now and then glancing at the fire. Sparks began to form at his fingertips as he moved, and he let out a steadying breath.

"How's she doing?" Tonks asked quietly, glancing towards the front door. Bill followed her gaze in the direction of his workshop and scowled. He shoved a hand into his hair, ripping his ponytail halfway out as he glared at the wall.

"She thinks she almost has it," he said with a sigh. "Whatever wards Gin is behind are powerful, and they've blocked out the first dozen different tracers we've tried. But she got a backlash from the last one, which means we've found a hole. It's just a matter of figuring out how to get through it."

Tonks nodded. "Nev told me that Ron and Harry are working on something else," she murmured. "Harry thinks he remembers seeing a blood spell for tracking family in one of the Slytherin books. They're looking now."

"Good," Bill said absently, spinning on his heel and staring into the fire again. "We have another problem."

"What now?" Tonks asked warily, and Bill scowled again.

"Hermione Granger is not the only one in her mind."

Tonks dropped the glass.

 

* * *

 

_Order Safehouse_

_Somewhere in Hampshire_

 

Minerva was  _not_  happy.

She stepped out of the fireplace with Lovegood on her heels, face twisted in a scowl as she looked around the room. The tiny little blonde girl bobbed impatiently at her side, and Minerva held out her arm, holding the girl back as she cast spell after spell, her eyes roving over every inch of the space.

Finally, she dropped her arm and turned to look at the impertinent child. " _How_  did you figure out where he was being held?" she demanded, and Luna simply smiled up at her. A tiny little glowing moth peeked out of her hair, flying in circles around the girl's head before diving into Minerva's robe pocket. The little creature buzzed happily, and Minerva closed her eyes.

 _Morgana, give me strength_ , she thought wearily, and opened her eyes again, looking down at the little Ravenclaw. Luna looked rather proud of herself, her normally absent gaze sharp and focused.

Minerva sighed. "Effective," she said simply, and Luna smiled again, crooking a finger towards the glowing creature. The moth buzzed more loudly, flitting over to vanish back behind the girl's ear. The young Ravenclaw stepped further into the room, her brow furrowed as she gazed at the heavy steel door in the opposite wall.

She looked so much like Pandora. Minerva felt her heart lurch in her chest.

"Must you speak with him?" the Gryffindor head asked worriedly, and Luna frowned.

"Yes," she replied simply, and without another pause, she skipped across the room, swinging the door open wide.

Minerva stared. She knew Bill and Shacklebolt had been the ones to determine where to hold the prisoner. That door  _had_  to be warded six ways to Sunday.

But Luna stood in the doorway, and Minerva quickly crossed the room to her student's side, glaring down at the man who sat casually on the barren cot in the stone room.

Brand's eyes narrowed as he glared at them, then his gaze softened, his eyes lingering on Luna's face. "You look just like her," he breathed, and Luna smiled gently.

The little Ravenclaw slipped into the room, sitting crosslegged on the floor and fixing the spellcrafter with a piercing stare. With a string of Scottish swears, Minerva followed her, moving to stand between her and the prisoner.

Luna ignored her, continuing to gaze at Brand. "You can help me, can't you?" she asked in her soft singsong.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

"Does she know?" Tonks asked shrilly, and Bill shook his head, grabbing the scotch bottle and taking a swig.

"I think she can tell something is wrong," he said. "She's frightened. She's noticed she's distrustful and she doesn't seem to think her own emotions make sense. She's… questioning."

"But it's only you." Tonks shoved her flaming red hair back from her face with a shaking hand. "Why you, specifically?"

"Maybe not," Bill replied. "It's not like I've been spying on the girl. She was just acting more and more nervous every time she's been around me, and tonight, she snapped. So… I took a peek."

He shook his head again, taking another swallow from the bottle. "Oddly enough, she seemed to relax after that."

"So maybe she really  _does_  realize something is…"

"But  _what_?" Bill said, scowling again. "She hasn't been memory charmed. It isn't Imperius. It's like he can talk to her, Tonks, like he's speaking directly into her brain."

Tonks shuddered.

"She thinks it's her conscience, I think," Bill continued. "You know, how when you've spent so much time around someone that sometimes, your thoughts sound like them? And the worst part is, that's  _reasonable_."

"So how do you know that's not it?" Tonks asked worriedly, her eyes narrowed on his face.

"Because her own thoughts wouldn't be laced with dark magic," Bill said bitterly.

"So what do we do?"

He glanced across the room, his harsh gaze softening as he looked at his brother's best friend. Tonks looked furious, but terrified, the slender Auror's face pale and stricken.

She was getting as attached to Hermione as he was to Harry, and if they couldn't help the girl, she'd be devastated.

"Nothing, for now," he said simply. "We have to get Ginny back, and Hermione won't be able to concentrate if she finds out. And you and I both know she  _has_  to help, or she won't forgive herself."

Tonks nodded slowly.

"We keep her away from him for now. Keep an eye on her. But once Ginny's safe, we'll have to confront him."

For a long moment, the crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room. Bill looked at Tonks steadily, waiting.

The metamorph's hair was slowly darkening, going a solid, inky black. She met his gaze with pitch black eyes, a vicious smile on her face.

"Severus Snape," she said slowly, "is going to rue the day he ever met that girl."

 

* * *

 

_Headmaster's Tower_

_Hogwarts_

 

"Were you successful?" Dumbledore asked sharply, and Snape nodded jerkily, his oily hair falling across his face.

"They will be – easily led to believe that I've abandoned the cause," he whispered, his silky voice echoing through the room. "And I believe the Dark Lord will be most pleased when the whispers reach him from other sources."

"Dare I ask what you did?" The Headmaster leaned back in his chair, his bones creaking as he gazed at his Potions Master. Nearly twenty years had taught him to never underestimate Snape's –  _ingenuity_. But he still wanted to believe there was a line the man wouldn't cross.

After all, hadn't he been fighting for love, all these years?

"Best not, Headmaster," Snape replied easily, his mouth twisting in a smirk. "Assume that Tonks, Shacklebolt, the wolf, the Weasleys, and the Dream Team will be sufficiently enraged, and they will help to solidify my cover quite…  _publicly_."

"I still wish you would have just – "

"The Dark Lord wants to disgrace you, not kill you," Snape cut him off, and Dumbledore sighed. "And you are needed yet, old man."

He was tired, so very very tired. Dumbledore pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, then let out a steady breath and looked up.

"Will you go now?" he asked sadly, and Snape nodded.

"Shacklebolt, the changeling, the wolf, or Indiana Jones might well kill me," he said simply, and Dumbledore felt a flash of sorrow.

Honestly, Severus deserved better for all he had sacrificed.

He wanted to thank the younger man. He wanted to tell him he was appreciated, he was redeemed, that he  _mattered._

"Be careful," he said instead, and Snape nodded again, then turned on his heel.

In the doorway, the spy paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Dumbledore waited patiently.

"Might I ask a favor?" his young friend asked quietly. "Have I earned the right?"

"Anything I can give," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape looked back at him, dark eyes shadowed. "This time," he whispered, "save the girl."

And with a swirl of his robes, he was gone.

 

* * *

 


	12. Bloodied but Unbowed

_A/N:_ So nothing against the HP actors... but I have very different mental images for the three oldest Weasley males.  I always saw Arthur as looking kind of like David Wenham, who played Faramir in Lord of the Rings (even though he isn't balding).  My Bill looks like Arthur Darvill.  And Charlie?  A more buff Sean McGowan.  James and Oliver Phelps couldn't possibly have matched my imagination for Fred and George Weasley more perfectly, though, and Julie, Rupert and Bonnie are also perfect matches. 

 

* * *

 

 

_Astronomy Tower_

_Hogwarts_

_September 2, 1996_

 

Even for a September night in Scotland, it was freezing.

He stood with his arms around his thin frame, staring blankly out over the grounds. Normally, he would be gazing at the stars, trying to catalogue every single one above him, to memorize their locations. The night sky was one of his favorite mysteries, and he never tired of trying to solve it.

That night, he had a considerably larger problem to solve.

The parchment was curled in his hand, the edges dotted with blood from where he'd clenched his fist so hard, he'd cut his own palm on his nails. He was fairly certain he'd ripped out a clump or two of hair, and his other hand was bruised and throbbing, the knuckles shredded from where he had punched the stone wall of his dormitory.

His father had always told him he needed to learn to control his temper.

The thought of his father made the rage return, an icy tempest that stole through his blood and clouded his mind. The sound of the wind around him died away, the feel of the cold bite of the air vanished. All he could hear was his own heart, pounding in his ears.

He was not a slave. He would  _not_  be a slave. His mother must be turning over in her grave.

He smiled sadly as his mother's face flashed through his mind. Ten years had made her memory fade, so he could never quite picture her perfectly, but he could still see her, smiling at him as she tucked him in at night. Feel her running her small fingers through his hair.

Hear her screaming for his father to leave him alone, for him to run – begging his father to stop –

He squeezed his fist tighter, and a section of the stone turret beside him exploded.

 _This is madness_.

He shook his head, closed his eyes, and let out a long, slow breath. Slowly, his temper eased, leaving behind his normal calm, emotionless disposition.

Or so it appeared to the world. He had to be calm, if he wanted to plan.

So… what to plan?

He knew Draco had received a letter from his father. Knew that could mean nothing good. Was fairly certain, in fact, that he had received similar news.

Difference between him and Draco Malfoy, though? He had a spine.

He knew now. So now… what to do about it?

He stood there, staring out at the lake, and watched as the giant squid raised a tentacle in the darkness. Right. There really was only one thing he  _could_  do, wasn't there?

Turning on his heel, he made his way down into the castle.

He would wait for his moment, and he would take it.

 

* * *

 

_Mt Lhotse_

_Near Kathmandu, Nepal_

 

Louis was tired, he was cold, and he was angry.

The sun was just starting to creep over the horizon as he stood outside the monastery, his hands turning blue inside his robes. No amount of warming charms was enough to combat the unspeakably frigid temperature, and even his thickest robes left him feeling completely bare.

He stood at the vertex of three glaciers, the Bubblehead Charm the only thing keeping breathable air in his lungs. To his right was a steep cliff face, to his left, a sharp drop. As he watched, a gust of wind raced along the edge of the drop, sending a cascade of rocks sliding down the side. Beneath his feet, the soil shifted slightly, and he paled.

When he made it home, he was going to bloody well  _kill_  Bill Weasley.

But to do that, he'd have to survive the trip first.

The twelve or thirteen monks to whom he had appealed still stood in a circular huddle, their hands tucked into their billowing sleeves, heads bowed low and close together as they whispered. Every so often, two or three from the group would look up in tandem, slowly craning their necks to stare at him, then quickly jerk their heads back when they saw him looking back.

It was amusing the first time. Odd the second. Bloody obnoxious the third.

Like clockwork, the next three from the group turned to look at him, and he fought the urge to bare his teeth and lunge at them. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and said nothing. The eldest of the group, in the back, snorted and shook his head.

As though pulled by strings, the rest of the monks suddenly separated, scurrying backwards several paces and kneeling on the frozen ground, bending over and touching their foreheads to the earth. The eldest – and smallest – shuffled through the path they had created, coming to a stop directly in front of Louis.

Was he supposed to bow his head or something?

Crikey, he missed Jess. She was always damn good at charming the locals.

…Bill too, but he'd never admit  _that_  to the pillock.

A sharp gust of wind ripped through him and he jumped, teeth chattering, then shook his head to clear it as he heard a pained, wheezing laugh echo from in front of him. He looked down to see the wizened old monk giving him a wide, toothless grin, and he smiled abashedly back at the old man. With a wave of his hand, the monk gestured to the looming monastery behind him, then turned around and began shuffling away, his feet sliding along the icy ground. The old monk reached the closest two prostate disciples and stopped, half-turning and giving Louis a pointed look, and Lou sighed.

He fingered his wand absently in his pocket, murmuring another pointless warming spell, and followed the old man, the other monks falling in line behind them like strange little ducklings.

He was pretty sure he'd seen a horror movie or two start like this.

 _You owe me the most expensive case of liquor you can find, Bill,_ he thought with a scowl.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

A silvery otter slammed into the living room, and Tonks jumped, landing right on the shards of her broken glass. She muttered darkly to herself as she threw herself back in the chair, propping her feet up and summoning the shards from her boots. Bill ignored her, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared straight ahead.

"Come on," he said tersely, tossing his just-filled glass in the fire and striding out of the room. Tonks glanced at the miniature explosion in the hearth, rolling her eyes as the alcohol combusted and shot towards the chimney.

 _Fucking drama queen_ , she thought with a scowl, stumbling after the man. Bill quickly ripped through his wards and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her into the room. He dragged her past the locked panels covering the walls, past the now empty cell, and burst into the ritual room.

"What?" he practically snarled, and Hermione spun on her heel, glaring at them. Her wild hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, there was a smudge of dirt on her forehead, and something vile was lodged under her fingernails. Tonks cringed, staring at the girl, and Hermione cut her eyes towards her before looking back at Bill.

"Here," she replied simply, pointing with a small dagger to a map on the table. Tonks pushed past Bill and leaned over the map, staring at the surface with narrowed eyes. A ring of fire surrounded a section of the map, although 'section' was a gross understatement. Everything from Cardiff to London, almost all the way across the North Sea to Brussels, was contained in the fiery circle.

Bill swore loudly, and Tonks shook her head.  _She_  didn't know how to do any of that, but they had to use tracking experts in the Aurory all the time. It wasn't unusual to get that kind of reading back from a tracking spell, not when up against someone who knew what they were doing.

"Can't you narrow it down any?" Bill asked, scowling at the map. As Tonks watched, he stepped forward, tapping his wand lightly on the curling parchment, and the flames flickered slightly, as if a sudden breeze had passed through the room.

" _Eventually_ ," Hermione replied, scowling back at Bill. "I've narrowed down the spells they are using to block our tracking, however. It is a wide-range disruption net, it blocks every tracker that isn't cast by specific people who are – "

" – keyed in to the wards," Bill finished, his face going blank, as it often did when he was upset. Tonks shot him a worried glance, then turned back to look at her ward, who was nodding definitively. "How did you figure it out?"

"The backlash," Hermione murmured, shoving her hair back from her eyes with the hand holding the dagger. "After that last tracker caused the explosion, I started casting smaller revealing spells at different areas of the map. The trackers  _stop_  at every point outside that circle. From each direction."

"Which means they are somewhere in that area," Bill frowned. "That's a huge amount of land to search. It would take months."

Hermione shook her head. "I think I can get through it," the girl replied. "I just need to figure out where the focal point is, so I can start putting pressure on that part of the map. And most likely, the focal point is their location."

Bill let out a heavy sigh as Tonks stared at them. "This makes a rescue far more complicated," he muttered to himself, and Hermione nodded, her eyes shadowed.

"Crikey, you two give me a headache," Tonks said darkly. "Someone, please,  _explain_."

Hermione eyed Bill nervously. The eldest Weasley son had conjured a chair and was sitting next to the table, staring blankly at the map. Shaking her head, the girl cleared her throat and looked at Tonks.

"It's blood warding," Hermione said simply, "and extremely powerful, at that. Think of it like a… like an electromagnetic field. It blocks certain signals from getting through, so we can't get a tracker through."

"Which reveals where is being protected. Like if you throw paint at the wall, but some of the wall stays clean, you know there's something in the way. But it's such a huge expanse of space, it'll take forever to search manually," Bill finished.

"So… what do we do now?" Tonks asked worriedly, biting her lip as she looked between the pair of geniuses.

"Something has to get through eventually," Hermione replied with a heavy sigh. "I've tried reaching out to Ginny through the pendants, and it's like static. I can get a vague sense of…  _something_ , impressions, flashes, but I can't hear anything. And she can't speak to me."

"But she's alive." Bill stood abruptly from the chair, shoving it back. He leaned over the map again, staring at a spot near Dover. "Hermione, have you tried sending a spell  _through_  the pendant?"

"Yes. The same result."

He nodded, his eyes shadowed, and Tonks felt another surge of pity. As she watched, the cursebreaker rolled up his sleeves, then tied his hair back with a set expression. "Alright, show me what you've tried already. That should help to eliminate a few different types of wards."

"While you do that, I'm going to go check in with Harry and Ron," Tonks said quietly, and Hermione looked up at her with a frown.

"They haven't found the spell they were looking for yet. They are in the Chamber."

"How do you – ?" Tonks started, trailing off when Hermione raised an eyebrow and wrapped one hand around the pendant at her neck. "Right," she said sheepishly. "Luna and Neville?"

"Neville is patrolling the lower reaches of the school with Hannah Abbott. Luna has gone off somewhere with McGonagall. She isn't sharing."

"Okay then," Tonks muttered. "I'm going to go be useful somewhere, then."

Hermione glanced at her, making a face, then turned back to Bill.

Tonks edged towards the door, then slipped out of the workshop as the two began talking about trackers and wards and field disruptors. That definitely wasn't her wheelhouse… but she could go check on Shack, then maybe they could pick a spot in that huge circle and start searching.

 _Hang in there, Gin_ , she thought sadly.

 

* * *

 

_The Cliffs of Moher, The Burren_

_County Clare, Ireland_

 

He landed and immediately slipped, his feet catching on a slick spot on the rock. With a muttered grunt, he righted himself, dusting his robes off uselessly. An unnatural chill seeped into his bones as he stood there, staring at the fissure ahead. With a solemn sigh, Dumbledore drew his wand from his sleeve, eyes narrowed on his surroundings. Even from where he stood, he could feel the foulness in the air. It lingered, cloying and oily, on his skin, like he had bathed in filth.

He wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and go home.

Slowly, he picked his way across the rocks, slipping here and there and catching himself on the sharp edges. His hands were nearly shredded by the time he reached the entrance, his robes drenched from the spray of the sea, and he stopped a moment, shivering and aching, as he stared at the entrance. He waited to hear his sister's screams, his brother's shouts, but – silence.

No Dementors guarded the cave, apparently.

He looked carefully at the surrounding rocks, and eventually found what he was looking for – the faintest mark on the rock wall. Reaching into his robes, he withdrew a small dagger and moved to cut his hand, then frowned, making a face at himself as he looked down at his palm. He didn't need to cut himself. His hands were bloodied plenty already.

With a tired sigh, he pressed his palm to the spot, stepping back and holding his wand aloft as the door ahead scraped and separated. He moved silently into the cave, his eyes scanning back and forth across the damp, chilly space. After a couple revealing spells, he relaxed slightly.

Honestly, the security there was rather  _lax_. He was almost disappointed.

He waved his wand lightly, conjuring a little bobbing lantern, and set off down into the cave. The steady drip of water from the cave ceiling echoed almost ominously through the space. Under his feet, leaves, branches, and small skeletons crunched, and he swallowed nervously.

Had Tom created another basilisk? Was that what hidden in the cave?

He reached a section of stone which seemed to be almost like steps carved into the floor. Carefully, he descended, his eyes still scanning the surroundings. The shadows cast by his lantern seemed to stretch on forever, and glancing up, he found that he could not see the ceiling.

After a time, he came to the edge of a vast, murky lake. There was a tiny island in the center, barely a meter across, and a small table sat upon the island. He paused at the water's edge, staring down at the bottom.

And felt another chill run through himself as he gazed down onto the rotted, sleeping corpses beneath the surface of the water.

 

* * *

 

_Sighisoara, Transylvania_

_Mures County, Romania_

 

Theodore Nott hated crowds.

He stood on the street corner, watching as people flitted from shop to shop under the harsh light of the streetlamps. Even at barely four am, the place was crawling with tourists – all of them adventure seekers, looking for a chance to spot a real, live vampire. His lip curled with disdain as he watched a crowd of young men and women jump, the women letting out little terrified screams. In the center stood a gangly young man in a uniform, likely a tour guide.

Hell on earth, the place was.

He shook his head and turned away, slipping down a cobbled side street as another group stumbled out of a nearby bar. He wound slowly through the town, coming to a stop just outside the Butchers' Tower, and stopped on the street, staring at the place in the darkness.

The secrets contained in the Citadel had been liberated by his ancestors long ago. His many-greats grandfather had gone so far as to set the citadel ablaze to cover his tracks, so important had the artifacts recovered been. Trusting the items to Lucius Malfoy had been the most colossal mistake of Theodore's life.

The dozens of 'random raids' that Muggle-loving blood traitor Weasley had conducted on Malfoy Manor had been… costly.

He sighed heavily, staring ahead at the rather unimpressive stone structure. The Butchers' Tower looked like nothing but an inelegant pile of rocks stretching toward the sky, and yet, the Muggles in the town celebrated it as an historic 'relic.'

He would never understand Muggles.

"Gorgeous, innit?" a voice asked from nearby, and Theodore stifled the urge to snarl as he turned toward the younger man. In the shadow of a nearby streetlight stood an olive-skinned, dark haired man with hooded eyes. He was wrapped in a leather jacket that fell down below his knees, with scuffed but well-made boots on his feet. As Theodore watched, the young man lit a Muggle cigarette and put the foul thing to his lips, blowing out a small ring of smoke.

"It is an impressive sight," he agreed, forcing an awed expression on his face as he turned back to the tower. "You are Stefan, I presume?"

"At your service," the younger man said with a grin, bending his arm across his chest and bowing with a silly little flourish. Stefan chuckled as he straightened up, moving to stand beside Theodore without the slightest hesitation.

"You received the transfer of funds?"

The younger man nodded. "That I did. I'll get you inside, my friend, but – what are you looking for?"

Theodore looked steadily at the young tour guide, shaking his head. "I simply loathe crowds," he replied easily. "I would rather take my tour alone." Taking a gamble – he'd been watching the younger man for days, after all – he let his eyes travel up and down the lengths of Stefan's body, smirking internally as he saw the Romanian's eyes light up.

Yes, it would be easy to accomplish his goal. This child was foolish and trusting. Nothing like his boy.

"Well," Stefan the Romanian tour guide drawled, "I will be  _happy_  to oblige. Come along."

With a quick wave of his hand, the young man led Theodore across the wooded grounds and to the edge of the stone structure. Glancing to the left and right, he pulled out a large iron key and slid it into a padlock wrapped around a heavy wooden door. The door swung inward and Stefan hurried into the building, quickly turning to his right and heading up a narrow, winding rickety wooden staircase. They reached the top of the walls and Stefan turned, grinning broadly at him in the darkness.

"Quite a view, eh?" he asked with a chuckle, looking out over the town. Even with the hour, none of the streets were fully dark.

"Yes," Theodore agreed easily. He raised his wand and whispered under his breath, and the young man never even had a chance to turn around. Moving forward quickly, he grabbed the tour guide as he slumped against the walls, pulling him back before he fell to the streets below. With another muttered spell, he vanished the body back to his manor.

The wards were probably in need of renewal anyway.

Turning on his heel, he moved carefully along the walls, following the path drawn out for him by his ancestors. He came to a stop nearest the clock tower, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the walls around him. Finally he found it, a small etching in the stone near the ground. He knelt carefully, slitting his palm with a small silver dagger, and pressed his hand to the etching.

The ground shimmered nearby, and he slipped carefully through the trapdoor that had appeared.

Landing with a heavy grunt, he straightened from a crouch and raised his wand, quickly conjuring a light. He'd fallen further than it had appeared he would, from the instructions, and he was standing in what looked like an old dug out cellar. Pillars lined the stone walls around him, carvings of beasts and deities atop the crowns of the pillars. Moving carefully through the darkness, he searched again for a marker, finally finding a carved design in the center of the wall that matched nothing else in the room.

Another bloodied press of his hand and a door appeared in the wall, and Theodore moved through the opening into what was an impossibly  _darker_  room. His conjured light flickered out and he felt something moving nearby, heard the scrape of stone on stone.

Theodore felt a thrill run down his spine as the footfalls came closer, and he willed himself to stay still and calm. A fire roared to life on a torch near him, and in the dim light, he saw a set of pure white eyes glowing in the darkness. The tall, thin creature stopped before him, its lips peeling back to reveal unnaturally long, sharp teeth. Other footfalls echoed, and Theodore felt himself slowly being surrounded.

"Wizard," the vampire hissed. "Why have you trespassed here?"

Theodore smiled in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

_Headmaster's Office_

_Hogwarts_

 

Normally, he loved the sunrise, but after having spent the entire night up and trying to reconstruct his own mind, Kingsley Shacklebolt was not in the best of moods.

Add to that a missing kid and a raging partner, and he was bloody well exhausted.

"What do you mean, he's  _gone_?" Tonks said angrily, and Dumbledore frowned at her sharply.

"Severus has taken a leave of absence from the school," he explained, and Tonks scoffed.

"You mean he's run like a fucking coward," she spat, and Dumbledore drew back in alarm.

"Nymphadora," he began, and Tonks huffed at him.

"Do you know what he  _did_?"

Shack could feel a headache coming on. He sat silently in the chair beside Tonks, watching as Dumbledore smoothed his expression. As they sat there, the Headmaster simply steepled his hands under his chin and looked at Tonks, waiting.

"He is in Hermione's  _mind_ , Dumbledore," Tonks said urgently. "He's influencing her thoughts, pulling her away from people, and that's just what we know. Bill figured it out, but he couldn't find everything. Snape is in there  _deep_."

"And why was young William trespassing on Miss Granger's mind in the first place?" Dumbledore asked sharply.

Tonks let out a bitter laugh, and Shack winced. "Oh,  _no_ , you don't," she said, her voice low and dark. "Don't you even  _try_  to turn this around on him. He's trying to help  _protect_ these kids. I don't know what your vendetta is with him lately – "

 _Oh Merlin, Tonks_ , Shack thought.

"But just because he outsmarted you doesn't mean you should ignore something important and dangerous because  _he_  found it."

"I beg your pardon!"

"Why don't you beg  _his_ , Dumbledore?"

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, and the two combatants turned abruptly and stared at him. Tonks' hair was switching quickly between red and black, her eyes narrowed and her face twisted in a scowl. Across the desk from them, Dumbledore had leaned forward, his normally friendly or impassive face red with anger, his hands clenched white-knuckled on the arms of his chair.

"Headmaster, you must admit, he's been behaving strangely towards her," he said calmly. "And there is evidence that someone Obliviated me, within this castle. Unless it was you…"

The Headmaster stared at him in open shock, and Shack bit back a sarcastic comment. The silence stretched on and finally, Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh.

"I will make inquiries," he said sadly. "However, I do  _not_  believe that Severus would harm a student."

"I do," Tonks bit out, and Dumbledore glared at her for a moment before the impassive mask appeared on his face again.

"Speaking of Miss Granger, any news on that front?"

Tonks glared at Dumbledore a minute longer before huffing out another breath. "No," she muttered darkly. "Bill and Hermione have narrowed down a search radius, but it's still – "

"Too much to reasonably search, not quickly enough, anyway," Shack finished. "And Harry and Ron didn't have any luck finding that spell Harry remembered seeing. Hermione is still working on it, but Bill is trying a different approach."

"Such as?" Dumbledore asked.

 

* * *

 

_Gringotts Bank_

_The remains of Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

 

There was something altogether eerie about walking through the ashes of a street he had wandered for years as a child.

Bill had been moving about London for well over two hours, doing his level best to be noticeable. After hours and hours bent over that map with Hermione, getting nowhere, he'd decided to leave her to it, instead following through on a different plan.

Well… two, really. One was to get captured himself, to torture the living hell out of whoever took him, and to use that to find Ginny. The other… the other was even more desperate.

Bill moved carefully through the wreckage, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any other witches or wizards that might have been lurking in the broken buildings. The Ministry was operating out of the Minister's manor, and they had yet to even make the slightest overtures of attempting a clean-up. The flames had been dead for days now, but the rubble hadn't even been touched. He frowned as he gazed at the hollow shell that had been, for a short time, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The once blindingly colorful shop was nothing but grey and black, the entire outside torched and walls crumbled over. Swinging from a still-standing section of wall was the giant 'W,' the only spot of color still visible.

A breeze swept through the alley, and the creaking, swinging 'W' fell, crashing to the ground.

 _Fitting_ , Bill thought darkly.

The door swung open behind him and Bill spun around, his eyes narrowed. Behind him stood Bogrod, the banker's wire-rimmed glasses nearly falling off his nose. As Bill gazed down at him, the goblin frowned, straightening his tie nervously.

"Mr. Weasley," Bogrod nearly whispered. "Quickly now, in!"

Bill shot a glance over his shoulder and slipped into the bank, the door shutting heavily behind him.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere in England_

 

Ginny gasped as another sharp pain ran through her mind, like someone had jammed a hot poker into her brain and  _twisted_  the thing. Her teeth ground together, tears springing into her eyes, and she bit back a scream. Before her, she could see the still-smiling face of Voldemort, his eyes fixed to her face. He blurred slightly as her vision swam, and she let out a shaky breath as the pain receded.

He was getting no satisfaction from this, she was sure. He wanted her to break – to scream, to cry, to beg – and she had done nothing of the sort. Surely the tosser would get  _bored_  soon.

But it had been hours. And he hadn't left her yet.

"There's no need for this, little one," the Dark Lord whispered almost lovingly, his face twisted in a mockery of sympathy. "You'll always be mine. Why do you fight?"

She wasn't sure she could speak without her voice breaking, so she did the next best thing and spat at his feet.

Voldemort chuckled.

"Such fire," he said softly, stepping closer, and Ginny braced herself as he tapped his wand on her cheek.

"My Lord."

Ginny looked up to the sky, breathing a silent prayer of thanks, as Voldemort stepped back, turning his head to glare at the intruder. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, his face smoothed into an impassive mask.

"My Lord, Bill Weasley has been spotted moving about London," the Death Eater said quietly, and Ginny stiffened. "He seems to be traveling alone."

"Bill?" Voldemort questioned. "Which one of the many offspring is he?"

"The eldest, My Lord," Malfoy replied, darting a glance at Ginny before sneering again. "The cursebreaker."

"Cursebreaker?" Voldemort turned fully, raising an eyebrow at Malfoy. "How… interesting. He would be useful."

"Bill will  _never_  bow to you," Ginny hissed angrily, and Voldemort turned and gave her an indulgent look. Behind him, Malfoy cleared his throat as Ginny shuddered again, and Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow at the man.

"I must agree with the girl, My Lord," the aristocrat said smoothly. "The tales of Bill Weasley are lacking in…  _details_ … but what little I know of the man, he's capable, but hindered by moral hesitations. He has been fighting against us all summer. And he's taken in the Potter boy, no less."

"All the more perfect," Voldemort mused. He turned back to face Ginny, his face twisted in a smirk. "Nowhere near here, you notice," he breathed. "They haven't found you, child. No one is coming for you."

Ginny stared back at him impassively.

"He's  _capable_ , you say?" Voldemort questioned Malfoy. "Do you mean powerful?"

"Reasonably so, my Lord," Malfoy agreed cautiously. "The goblins speak of him almost with reverence."

A flash of anger crossed Riddle's features, and Ginny felt a spark of triumph in her mind.  _Take that, you piece of shit,_  she thought viciously.  _Me and mine outclass you in every way_.

"That  _is_  interesting," he said softly. "Especially with the recent revelations about  _gentle_  Arthur Weasley." He turned back to Ginny and smiled. "Your family is so much more intriguing than I imagined, little one."

The triumph died out.

"But for now," Voldemort continued, "we must move to the next stage." He snapped his fingers and Pettigrew scurried out of the corner, handing over a small vial of dark red liquid. Ginny watched as Voldemort unstoppered the vial, turning to her and smiling almost gently.

"Open up," he whispered, and Ginny's blood ran cold.

"No," she whispered back. Merlin only knew what was in that vial, but all she knew for sure was it  _wasn't_ Liquid Luck.

"Wormtail," Voldemort said sharply, and the sniveling man moved forward, grabbing Ginny's arm roughly and shoving her into the wall. Malfoy crossed the room in two quick strides and grabbed her face, his fingers digging into the sides of her jaw. She hissed angrily, twisting and fighting as her heart thundered in her ears. She heard Malfoy chuckle, felt him reach up with his other hand and wrap his fingers through her hair, yanking harshly and dragging her head back. Her chest tightened as the panic rose and she bit down on her lip even as Malfoy pressed harder on her jaw, forcing her mouth open. Blood ran down her face from her split lip and she felt something being poured into her mouth.

Gagging, she struggled to spit out the thick potion, and tears ran down her face as Wormtail breathed heavily in her ear. With a muttered swear, Malfoy let go of her jaw and slammed his hand over her mouth, yanking her head back further, and pressed on her throat with his other hand. Something warm and thick moved down her throat, like fiery molasses, and suddenly both Death Eaters let her go, Malfoy stepping back quickly. Ginny sobbed as she fell limply to the ground, her knees slamming on the stone floor, and she curled on her side as she gasped for air.

" _That_ ," Malfoy ground out, shaking his hand as though it burned, "was much easier when she was unconscious."

Silence echoed through the room and she let out a shaky breath, forcing back her tears, and she rose smoothly to her knees, glaring at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was gazing down at her, something unspeakable in his unhinged red eyes.

"Release her," he said softly, and Ginny stared. Malfoy moved forward to grab her arm, dragging her bodily to her feet. " _Unharmed_ , _"_  Voldemort hissed, and Malfoy's grip loosened slightly. A strange feeling was building up in her, like a sudden violent fever, and her heart was still thundering in her ears. The room spun around her and she felt herself being dragged from the room, up a set of stairs and around a corner.

They emerged onto a darkened main floor and the Malfoy patriarch tapped his wand on her temple, and Ginny's vision immediately went dark. She heard a heavy door swing open, felt herself being shoved into a carriage, and she struggled to stay awake even as she felt herself grow faint.

When she woke, she was lying in the rain, thrown in a heap on a pile of rubbish behind a shop. Struggling to her feet, she shoved her hair back from her face and stumbled into the street. She raised her wand and called for the Knight Bus, and when it arrived, she promptly collapsed at Stan Shunkpike's feet.

 

* * *

_Hogwarts Infirmary_

_Hogwarts_

 

"No!" Ginny almost screamed, shoving the vial away. Pomfrey looked down at her worriedly, her face twisted in doubt and fear. "No potions.  _No_."

"But Ginny, we need to heal – "

" _NO!_ "

"Poppy!" a sharp voice cut in, and from the doorway, Dumbledore smiled gently at the mediwitch. "Do an evaluation, please."

Poppy Pomfrey stepped back and set the vial down on the bedside table, slowly drawing her wand to run checks on Ginny. As she did so, Ron and Luna shoved by Dumbledore, Luna immediately climbing into the hospital bed with Ginny and pulling the redhead into her arms. Ron dragged a chair over to the side of the bed and sat roughly, reaching out and wrapping both hands around one of his sister's.

Harry leaned against the wall and watched them sadly, Hermione and Neville silent on either side of him. Beside him, the hospital wing door slammed open, and Bill and Charlie came striding into the room, Viktor on their heels. Harry looked at his guardian worriedly, but Bill's eyes were fixed on Ginny's face, his hands fisted at his sides. He glanced down at Bill's hands and let out a tired sigh. Blue sparks were dancing between the cursebreaker's fingers, and the man didn't even seem to notice.

Silence echoed through the room as Pomfrey ran her tests, then finally the mediwitch stepped back further from the bed, frowning.

"She's lost a considerable amount of blood," the woman said softly. "There are a couple broken bones that I can set, and some slight curses. But nothing – nothing I would have expected, considering…"

Harry closed his eyes as relief sank into his bones.

"He gave me something," Ginny said in a flat voice.

His eyes flew open.

"A potion," she continued, locking eyes with Harry. "I fought, but they held me down and forced it down my throat. I don't know what it was."

Ron let out a strangled groan as Luna's arms tightened around Ginny. "We'll figure it out, Gin," Charlie said urgently. "We'll figure it out."

Bill still hadn't moved.

"Yes, well," Shacklebolt's deep voice sounded from the doorway, and Harry glanced over at the Auror. "We've lost our Potions Master, so where do we start?"

A sad look flitted across Dumbledore's face, and Harry exchanged a dark look with Neville as Hermione looked down at the ground.

"I can try," Viktor spoke up, and Ginny stared at him, her eyes wide. As he moved further into the room, Dumbledore turned and looked at him sharply.

"You studied under Wilhelm Haber?"

"Da," Viktor nodded. "His father vas a var criminal, but a brilliant Potions Master. He learned from him."

"What would you need?" Bill asked, speaking finally. He still hadn't looked away from Ginny. Behind them, the door banged open again as Fred and George ran into the room. The twins ignored everyone and darted over to Ginny's bed, sitting at the foot of the bed and each of them putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Blood and tissue samples," Viktor replied. "Saliva. A place to vork."

Dumbledore gazed at the Bulgarian, his eyes thoughtful. "You operate very differently than my Potions Master."

"Good," Shacklebolt rumbled, and Harry glanced over at Hermione, seeing a flash of pain across her face. As he watched, Neville scooted around him and moved to Hermione's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Dumbledore shot a look at Shacklebolt before turning back to Viktor. "Very well," he said slowly. "I hope you don't mind if I assist?"

"Is fine," the Quidditch star muttered, and Dumbledore smiled. Viktor turned away from him, gazing at Ginny. She looked back at him evenly, then bit her lip and frowned.

"I tried to stab him," she blurted out after a moment, and the room went silent. Harry glanced at Viktor, and the other man had gone very still. "I tried, but he took away my other knife."

Every Weasley male in the room had gone pale, but Viktor was just staring back at her. After a long pause, he smiled. "Vhen you are vell," he said quietly, "I vill teach you how to make sure that does not happen again."

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking at the other man. Something in his tone was – different. A quick look at Hermione showed her smiling slightly, looking back and forth between the two of them. She caught his eye and grinned before leaning her head tiredly on Neville's shoulder.

"Very well," Dumbledore cut in. "Let's get to work, then."

"Wait," Ginny said, and she turned to look at Harry again. "I didn't see anybody, and Dean was the only one I heard. When I first woke up. They blinded me when they took me out, so I couldn't see where we were or where we went, but maybe something in my memories will – "

Dumbledore smiled sadly, and he stepped forward, pulling an empty crystal vial from his pocket. He moved to Ginny's side and pressed his wand to her temple, and she looked up at him then let out a shaky breath. "Concentrate," he said gently, and she nodded and closed her eyes. After a moment, a silvery strand flowed out of her head and curled around Dumbledore's wand, and he tipped the strand into the vial. Turning away, he held the vial out to Bill, who moved forward immediately and took the memories.

"My password is  _Canary Creams_ ," he said to Bill, and the cursebreaker strode from the room. Harry looked around a moment, then walked over and hugged Ginny. He stepped back and smiled at her sadly, then set off after his guardian.

 

* * *

 

_The Room of Requirement_

_Hogwarts_

 

"Nothing useful," Harry grunted, glaring at the fire. "It's clearly a dungeon, but where? There's no pictures, nothing distinguishable about the room. No windows, to be able to see anything outside. She was unconscious when they brought her in and blinded when they brought her out. The only thing that stood out was they put her in a carriage to take her out."

"But we know Dean Thomas is alive," Neville pointed out. "Or was, at least."

Harry glanced over at Seamus, sitting and staring at the wall. "Is," Harry insisted, and Neville grimaced.

They had been sitting in the darkness for an hour before Harry and Bill joined them, Ginny and Luna still curled up together in the hospital wing. Ron and Neville, Hermione and Susan, Hannah and Seamus, all sitting in squashy armchairs and talking with Lupin, Tonks, and Shacklebolt, all trying to come up with ideas. Anything, anything at all, to help narrow down where Ginny had been. In the corner, Fred, George and Charlie were shooting flames at targets that were made to look like Malfoy and Dolohov. Hermione kept shooting worried looks at the Dolohov target, and Tonks scooted her armchair closer, grasping her hand gently.

Harry sat there silently, dropping his head down into his hands. At his throat, his pendant warmed, and he wrapped one hand around it, smiling slightly as Luna's voice sounded in his mind. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had just arrived and were with Ginny. Luna was headed his way.

"We  _need_  to figure something out," Susan said urgently, and Tonks nodded.

"But with Moody, Vance, Shack, Fred, George, Charlie and me all searching all day, we still didn't manage to cover even a tenth of the area Hermione managed to narrow down," Tonks said hesitantly. 'I don't know how we can find them without – "

A sudden thud sounded through the room, and almost as one they shot to their feet, Shacklebolt pushing Hermione behind him as the girl glared at him and pulled from his grip. Harry shot a glance at Ron then moved over to the door, his friend on his heels. Ron raised his wand, stepping back slightly to be behind where the door would open, then looked at Harry and nodded, and Harry swung the door wide, his wand arm falling at his side as he stared blankly.

Theo Nott stood in the doorway, his hair plastered to his head and his robes drenched. The other boy raised his head to meet Harry's eyes, his own gaze dark and troubled.

"They're in my house, Potter," he said hoarsely, and Harry heard Hannah let out a gasp. "They're in my  _house_."

As Harry continued to stare at the Slytherin, he heard footfalls behind him, and Lupin reached out and clasped his shoulder, looking steadily at Nott.

"I think you'd better come in, Theo," Lupin said gently. Nott looked away from Harry, still staring, and locked eyes with his former professor. Swallowing nervously, the Slytherin teen nodded and stepped through the door.

 

* * *

 

"So… we have a plan," Ron said slowly, his eyes still narrowed on Nott. Harry watched as the Slytherin shifted in his chair. Nott's face was perfectly calm, but he was fidgety, continuously turning something over in his hands.

Somehow, he didn't feel the other teen was a good enough actor to be a turncoat. He shot a glance at Hermione and she nodded. Maybe Nott was going to be a terrible screw-up and get people killed, but… he was genuine.

"Does Draco want to be a Death Eater?" Lupin asked Nott, and the teen grimaced.

"Draco is afraid to go against his father," the Slytherin said quietly. "I'm not sure he's even figured out he  _can_  want something yet, let alone what."

"He'll be no use, then," Tonks muttered. The metamorph's hair turned a brilliant orange as she gazed at the flames, turning a dagger over and over again in her palm.

"There's still the minor matter of Voldemort and who knows how many Death Eaters between us and those kids," Charlie pointed out, and Harry and Tonks winced.

"We'll just have to draw them out somehow," Shack murmured.

"But how?" said Fred, George nodding beside him, and Harry stared at the flames, his mind racing. What if they –

"I have an idea," Bill said quietly.

Harry looked up and met his guardian's eyes. Bill was looking at him evenly, an eyebrow raised in question. As Bill met his eyes, Harry saw an image of himself, sitting in Grimmauld Place, quietly saying  _"I propose we take out Lucius Malfoy first."_

"I'm in," Harry said simply.

"We'll need a way to get past the wards on Malfoy Manor," Bill continued out loud. "Since we can't spare anyone to play guard, we can't kidnap the younger Malfoy and force him to help. So I'll need part of a Malfoy."

Tonks made a funny sound in the back of her throat, and Ron grinned darkly.

"Would blood do?" Nott asked quietly, and Bill nodded. "Leave it to me," the Slytherin teen said.

"Alright. I need it within the next two hours." Nott nodded sharply, and Bill rose to his feet.

"Alright, Harry, come on. Hermione, you too, sweetheart, I could use a second set of eyes."

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, standing quickly.

Bill grinned. "We've got to see a man about a spell."

"What exactly do you plan to do?" Harry asked as they left the Room of Requirement, moving quickly to the stairs.

"You'll see."

 

* * *

 

_Slytherin Dungeons_

_Hogwarts_

 

Someone had followed him; he was sure of it. Theo glanced back over his shoulder as he stepped into the Slytherin dorms. The hallway was empty, the only movement the play of shadows thrown from the torches onto the walls. But someone was there.

The door swung shut behind him and he paused in the doorway, closing his eyes quickly before opening them again and setting off to his dorm. The room was empty, all the other boys off causing mayhem or misery somewhere in the castle, and he flung himself down on his bed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"What's wrong?" a drawling voice sounded, and Theo moved his arm, sitting up slightly and glaring at the door.

Draco Malfoy stood just inside the entrance to their dorm room, gazing at him with open worry. Theo scoffed at his dormmate, propping himself on his elbows. "What's wrong?" he demanded, forcing a tremble into his voice – although truthfully, he didn't have to try very hard. "What's wrong." He scrubbed a hand over his face and flung himself back on the bed, glaring up at the canopy to his bed. " _What's wrong_  is my bloody father, wanting to sell me off to be branded and enslaved!"

A heavy silence echoed in the room, then he heard footsteps coming closer, and felt his bed shift as his friend sat on the edge.

"It might not be that bad," Draco said hesitantly. "They won't expect us to do anything big right away, after all, and – "

"Maybe  _you're_  okay with working for a madman who hurts women and kids," Theo said darkly, "but I'm not." In his mind's eye, he saw his mother again, broken and bleeding on the floor. Saw his own tiny, six-year old hands, shaking her shoulder and trying to wake her.

He heard Draco draw a sharp breath, and then his friend murmured quietly, "Is this really about your father?"

" _Everything_  bad in my life is about my father."

Another long pause, and finally Draco whispered, "Are you sure?"

Theo swallowed, his eyes prickling with tears. "I don't  _want_  this."

"Theo, they'll kill you if you resist," Draco replied urgently. "Your mother didn't die to protect you so that you could throw your life away."

The anger wasn't hard to force, either. "Don't talk about my mother."

"You're not your father, Theo. You're nothing like him. She wouldn't blame you – "

"I said  _don't_!" Theo roared, and he came up off the bed swinging, catching Draco in the nose with his fist. His friend jumped back, clapping his hand over his nose, and Theo felt a rush of triumph, followed by a sick feeling of guilt and dread.

"Bloody hell, Draco, I'm sorry," he muttered, shooting to his feet, and he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. "I didn't – I just – " He held out the handkerchief, his hand shaking, and looked at his friend sadly. "I – I'm sorry."

"S'alright," Draco said thickly, taking the handkerchief and pressing it to his nose. The white silk stained crimson instantly, and Draco let out a pained sigh.

" _Episky_ ," Theo whispered, pointing his wand at his friend's face, and his nose straightened immediately. Draco winced then wadded up the handkerchief, handing it back to Theo.

"I – I think I need to go for a walk," Theo said haltingly. "Calm myself down."

Draco nodded absently, staring at him with narrowed eyes, and Theo gazed back at him, drew a breath to say something, then bit his lip and stopped. He shook his head, his wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose slightly, then moved past his friend to the door.

"Theo," Draco's voice sounded from behind him, and Theo stopped in the doorway, looking over his shoulder.

Draco was still staring at him, his silver eyes dark with a strange mixture of anger, sadness and pity. "Next time," the Malfoy heir said softly, "I'll hit you back."

Theo looked evenly at his friend, bit his lip, and nodded jerkily. He slipped out of the dormitory and let the door thud behind him, moving quickly across the common room, out into the hallway, and towards the main floor. In the entrance hall, he shoved by Longbottom, banging into the other teen, and grunted a simple "Watch it," as he continued on up the stairs to the astronomy tower.

He already hated this day, and he hadn't even done the hard parts yet.

 

* * *

 

Standing in the entrance hall, Neville reached into his pocket and drew out a white silk handkerchief, an entire corner stained with blood. On the opposite corner, small crimson dots scattered across the surface, embroidered in black thread were the letters 'TVN.'

Neville smiled and put the handkerchief carefully back in his pocket, heading quickly for the seventh floor.

 

* * *

 

_Order Safehouse_

_Somewhere in Hampshire_

 

Hermione glared across the table at the man who had tried to kill herself and her friends less than two weeks before. Beside her, Bill sat calmly, drawing out diagrams with a ballpoint pen as Brand watched with narrowed eyes. Harry was leaning against the wall by the door, his arms crossed across his chest and his wand dangling from his right hand, eyes fixed firmly on Brand.

"Will it work?" Bill asked suddenly, and she jerked her eyes away from Brand to look down at the spell diagram. She leaned forward curiously, running through the movements and symbols, and stared first at the parchment, then at Brand, then finally at Bill.

The insane spellcrafter was gazing at the parchment with undisguised glee, his eyes wide and his hands shaking so hard that the chains tying him to the table literally  _rattled._ "Where do you plan to use this?" he asked softly.

"Malfoy Manor."

Brand jerked his head up, staring openly at Bill. For a long moment, the German was silent, then finally, he coughed, looked away, then looked back at Bill with narrowed eyes. "Do you still have my five-point field disruptor?" he asked, and Bill nodded. "Right. In my bronze chest, had a niffler etched into it, there's a clear teardrop shaped gem. That's an amplifier. You'll want to be holding that in your off-hand when you cast."

Bill nodded again, and Hermione felt a sharp sense of dread. Ignoring the rest of the room, Brand leaned over the parchment again and pointed at the second section of the diagram. "Here, where you have the u-shape, you'll want to make it more like a 'zeta' and then a heavy slash. That'll increase the power so you won't have to cast it as many times."

"You're sure?" Bill asked sharply, and the spellcrafter grunted.

"Oh yeah, son, this is definitely based of the ancient Greek eternals," Brand said absently. "You'll get the best results with that."

Bill frowned slightly, then nodded again.

"Where did you find this, anyway?" Brand asked, and Bill just looked at him. "Right."

"Wait a moment," Hermione cut them off. "Bill, how do you know that what he's telling you to do won't get you  _killed_?"

Bill continued to look at Brand as he spoke. "Because if I die trying to do this, Shack is going to come here and kill him."

Hermione felt her mouth go dry, and her heart thudded in her throat. "Kingsley wouldn't – " she began to protest, her eyes wide and stinging.

"Kingsley would," Bill and Brand replied, almost at the exact same time.

"Brand here knows the only way he's ever getting free is by cooperating," Bill continued, shooting a look at Hermione. "That's what happens to a war prisoner."

 _I warned you_ , the dark voice sounded in her mind, and Hermione swallowed. Looking up at her sharply, Bill shook his head. "When this is over, you and I need to talk," he said quietly, frowning at her.

Hermione stared.

"Okay," Harry cut in from behind. "So the crazy spellcrafter who sliced my skull open then tried to slit my throat – "

Brand glared at him balefully. "I was  _helping_ you the first time, thank you very – "

"Thinks this will work?" Harry finished, ignoring him.

Bill raised an eyebrow at the German, and Hermione turned to stare at him questioningly as well.

"Yes," Brand grunted, his face sullen. He splayed his hands flat on the table, his eyes still fixed to the page.

Bill smiled. Hermione sighed, shoving her hair back from her face with a shaking hand. She glanced down at her hand as she pulled it back, frowning lightly at her skin. The glamour was fading faster than normal, she noticed. Her veins were already starting to stick out, tinged with blue against her pale hand. She'd have to slip away to fix it soon. Shaking her head, she leaned back over the parchment, her eyes travelling across the squiggles and lines. She tapped the parchment in the fourth quadrant, her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips as she gazed at the characters.

"Reverse these," she murmured, pointing to two symbols in the center. "And they'll feed off each other and make the spell less draining."

Bill looked where she was pointing and grinned, clapping her on the shoulder. Behind her, she heard Harry chuckle, but when she raised her head, she saw Brand gazing at her with undisguised greed.

"Can I have this one, then?" the spellcrafter asked Bill conversationally.

Without looking up, the cursebreaker reached across the table and slammed his fist down on the back of Brand's open hand. An awful crunching sound echoed through the room, and the German let out a shout of pain, shaking his hand out as far as his shackles would allow him to move.

"You could have just said  _no_ ," the man hissed, rubbing the fingers of his other hand across the now-broken bones, and Hermione felt her stomach turn.

Bill didn't even bother to reply. Instead, he pushed back his chair, gathered up the parchment, then put a hand on Hermione's back and nudged her to her feet. Harry opened the door and pulled her from the room, Bill following right after. The cursebreaker sharply shut the door, plunging Brand into darkness.

"Right," Bill said simply, a vicious grin spreading on his face. "We have work to do, kids."

 

* * *

 

 

~*~ALIBI


	13. Sudden the Lightning Flashed

_Malfoy Manor_

_The outskirts of Malmesbury_

_Wiltshire, England_

_September 3, 1996_

 

In the end, there was no point in waiting.

Harry had received a fair amount of protest when he had suggested putting Bill's plan into action immediately, but he had been adamant. Not only did they run the risk of Voldemort moving – and moving the student prisoners along with him – if they waited, but the element of surprise was on their side for the night. Who in their right mind would attack mere hours after one of their own escaped, after all? With so little time to plan, so little intel?

McGonagall and Shacklebolt – hell,  _most_  of the Order – had argued the exact point that they  _weren't_  prepared, but to Harry's shock, Moody growled out that he was right, the twin stone faces of Arthur Weasley and Rufus Scrimgeour nodding beside him. From that moment on, the die had been cast. They had established a rough plan –  _'detailed plans never survive engagement anyway,'_ Ron had quipped, sounding like he was quoting Moody – had divided into teams, and had spent hours running drills to get familiar.

All the while, Harry and Bill practiced, and practiced, and practiced.

He stood in the darkness outside an ornate wrought iron gate, gazing across the lavish grounds. The grounds sloped gently into a hill, and atop the hill sat a sprawling stone manor house.

No wonder Malfoy was such an arrogant berk, Harry thought with a snort.

He had to admit, he was rather looking forward to this. The chance to finally  _do_  something, to finally strike a blow back.

He just wished he were there alone. He didn't want anyone else to be in danger.

Glancing to his right, he watched as Bill handed out supplies, passing one small rucksack to Hermione and another to Fleur, before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a small metal disc and a large teardrop shaped crystal. Hermione gave Harry a small smile and slipped away to the right outside the gates, Lupin shadowing her. Fleur stopped for a moment, staring over at Harry, her often haughty features softened by the fear that was clear on her face. As Harry watched, the part-Veela let out a shaky breath, nodded once, and shot Harry a dazzling smile before kissing Bill on the cheek and striding off to the left. Amelia Bones followed on her heels, the stern witch looking even more impossibly serious as she scanned their surroundings constantly.

Only Bill was left standing behind him, looking at Harry with a calm that the younger man envied. The cursebreaker stepped forward and stopped directly beside Harry, clapping the Gryffindor teen on the shoulder with a steady hand. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a silk handkerchief, wrapping the cloth around one of the wrought iron bars. A soft light flickered to life in the crystal in his hand, and Harry watched the man place the metal disk on the spot directly below the cloth. He pressed on the disk and it spun, the five sharp points curling into the metal bars. The center bubbled forward and a brilliant light appeared, a glowing lime green forcefield that surrounded the grounds like a giant dome.

Bill let out a sharp breath, and in the green glow, Harry could see Hermione's eyes widen, see Fleur looking worriedly between Bill and the manor. Bill's eyes flickered towards Fleur for a second, but he simply slid a knife across his right hand, then turned to Harry.

The wards bucked and hissed wildly, as if they were a thing alive, as if they understood. If anyone were inside, their element of surprise was gone now.

"Ready?" Bill asked in a low voice, and Harry nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dagger, slicing across his left palm, and linked hands with Bill. The sudden feel of a sharp pull in his chest made him gasp, but he gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead as Bill began to chant in low, urgent tones. The hissing grew louder, sparks shooting off the wards and landing at their feet, scorching the earth around them. Harry didn't move.

 _You'll need to be the battering ram and the shield, Harry_ , Bill had told him hours before.  _Your raw power added to mine can help me to get through the wards, then once we're inside, you'll be the one to activate what we leave behind. Remember what Dumbledore taught you._

Spots began to swim in front of his eyes as more and more power ebbed out of his body, and finally, cracks began to appear in the dome. The cracks spread, like the spider-webbing of shattered glass, and a sharp crack split the air as the wards crumbled, shards flying towards them. Harry threw up his hand, hastily throwing a shield over them, and as the glowing green fragments rebounded from the shield – one coming within a hairsbreadth of Bill's nose – he hoped desperately that Bones and Lupin had done the same.

The last tendrils of the wards melted slowly to the ground, falling like slow-floating feathers and vanishing the moment they touched earth. The sudden disappearance of their glow left Harry disoriented in the pitch black, and he let out a shaky breath as Bill shifted beside him.

Lights flared up in the manor.

He was up.

Slipping his wand from the holster, he strode forward and blasted aside the gates. The twisted metal flew across the ground and landed with a sharp clatter on a small cluster of rosebushes. Harry moved through the darkness without pause, scaling the hill and coming up the steps with Bill right behind him. Off to his right, Hermione and Lupin darted across the grounds, disappearing around the corner of a nearby wing. To his left, Fleur and Bones slipped around a garden and vanished.

He raised his hands to the ornate stone door and simply  _focused_ , and though his head began to pound, the door simply exploded, chunks of rock flying everywhere. Stepping across the threshold, he ignored the harsh shrieking sirens and the flashing lights of inner wards, all of them now tripped. Crossing the marble hallway quickly, he and Bill followed Mr. Weasley's directions and moved through the house, stopping in the infamous Malfoy drawing room. It took Bill only three tries to rip down the wards – they weren't trying to be stealthy any longer, after all, and based on the fact they hadn't been stopped, Harry was betting no one was in the house but elves.

For the sake of Hermione's sanity, he hoped the little creatures would get themselves to safety.

Bill set his not-yeti loose in the room, a large rucksack in the center of the space, and the creature began to zoom around the room, clearing shelves. Throwing caution to the wind, the cursebreaker leaped down through the trapdoor and after a few flashes of light, yelled to Harry to follow. Harry grimaced, his heart pounding in his ears, then vaulted down into the underground cavern, landing in an unsteady crouch.

Bill was already moving through the space, levitating cases and crates holding goblets, severed hands and all manner of awful things into the bag at his feet. Harry turned and began to summon the items on the opposite end, throwing a glance back over his shoulder as he did so.

"How long you reckon we have?"

"Until we're trapped?" Bill asked calmly. "Ten minutes, tops. He'll have to get permission, get off the grounds, apparate here, get inside…"

"And until we explode?" Harry countered.

Bill grinned. "Five."

"Right, then," Harry muttered. With a scowl, he pocketed his wand and raised his hands, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. He felt the surge rising up in his chest again and a rattling sounded around him – the air began to whip in the small cavern and he opened his eyes to see a small whirlwind racing through the space, sucking everything in before hovering over the bag and dropping everything inside. Bill gaped at him.

"When did you learn  _that_?" Bill demanded, his eyes flashing with excitement, and Harry shrugged.

"Didn't. I made it up."

Bill stared.

"Well, Dumbledore said half of wandless magic is imagination," Harry said defensively, feeling a flush rise on his face. "I just focused on what I wanted to accomplish."

His guardian barked out a laugh, grinning at him wryly. "Right," he said with a shake of his head. With a jab of his wand, the rucksack floated up off the ground. "Come on, then," he called, and he levitated himself up through the trapdoor, turning and pulling Harry up after a quick check of the room. The not-yeti was finished its chores, racing over to Bill and Harry with its backend wagging a nonexistent tail. Bill levitated the second bag and they ran for the hallway, bolting to the front door of the manor.

A flash of an otter patronus rushed them from the right, a dove from the left, and Harry looked at Bill as an eerie calm spread over him. The cursebreaker nodded silently, and Harry braced himself against the doorframe, wrapping a shield around them. Beside him, Bill stepped forward, the teardrop crystal once again in his hand.

"Εγώ αποκαλώ τον καταστροφέα," Bill intoned, a blinding white light emanating from the crystal. The older man blinked as his skin began to blister. "Καλώ την μαγεία να κρίνει τις αμαρτίες σας. Για τα εγκλήματά σου, ζητάω ένα δώρο. Καθαγιάσει αυτό το έδαφος, ότι κανένας με σκοτεινή πρόθεση δεν μπορεί να τραβήξει δύναμη εδώ."

The crystal flared brighter, so brilliant the light that spots once again appeared in Harry's vision. As he watched, flames flared up around the crystal, scorching Bill's hand, and the unsettling blue sparks jumped from his skin to tangle with the flames. The cursebreaker's voice grew strained, sweat beading on his forehead, and Harry looked across the grounds as the sharp  _crack_  of apparition rent the air.

"Καθαγιάσει αυτό το έδαφος, ότι καμία σκληρότητα δεν θα ανθίσει εδώ. Έσπασες το λόγο σου. Τώρα πρέπει να πληρώσεις. Μαγεία, να παρευρεθείς!"

In Harry's mind, the words echoed in the rough English translation Hermione had given him.  _I call thee oathbreaker. I call upon magic to judge thee. For your sins, I ask a boon. Sanctify this ground, that none with dark souls may draw strength here. Sanctify this ground, that no cruelty shall flourish here. For your sins, I ask a boon. You are oathbreaker, now you must pay. Magic, attend!_

A piercing shriek rose up around them, and the air grew heavy and cold. As Harry struggled to hold the shield, a seismic  _boom_  resounded, and the ground shook beneath his feet. The white fire had completely engulfed Bill's hand, and the flames leapt down to hover just above the ground, splitting into dozens of tiny balls of fire tearing across the threshold and into the house. Bill's knees buckled, and the cursebreaker fell to the ground.

Cutting through the darkness, Harry saw the brilliant red lights of Voldemort's eyes as the man glided towards them, Malfoy and a couple other Death Eaters hastening behind. Harry dove forward, wrapping an arm around Bill's still frame. As Bill moaned weakly, his head lolling to the side, Harry pulled him upright, then met Voldemort's eyes and smiled grimly.

Raising his wand with a smirk, he pointed straight up at the sky and whispered. A bolt of lightning shot out of the tip of his wand, bright white and blinding, and hung in the sky above the manor. From behind him, one of the fireballs soared past his shoulder and shot up to twine with the lightning bolt.

Harry wrapped his free hand around the pendant and thought roughly at Hermione,  _Now!_

And he and Bill vanished from the steps of Malfoy Manor, the lightning bolt still shining down as Voldemort reached the spot where they had stood.

 

* * *

 

 _F_ _ive minutes earlier_

 

Hermione had done dozens of crazy things in her time as Harry Potter's best friend, but she wasn't sure she had ever done  _anything_ quite as mad as this.

She crouched in the darkness, Professor Lupin standing guard over her, and placed the last charge against the walls. With a tap of her wand, the small block shook and grew, doubling then tripling in size, and Hermione nodded in satisfaction and stepped back.

She had to admit, she had no place calling this mad. Bill had wanted to attack Malfoy Manor and raid it at the same time. Harry had wanted to make it useless to Voldemort.

She had been the one to suggest  _this_  particular means of destruction. No matter that Voldemort had, at Lucius Malfoy's urging, used the same tactic on London Bridge. Hermione was willing to bet  _everything_  that the arrogant pureblood lord had never considered protecting his home against Muggle weaponry.

…fifty on each side wasn't excessive, was it?

With all her charges placed, Hermione turned to her professor and nodded, and the man wrapped an arm around her, Disapparating them to the rendezvous point. A tense moment later, Fleur and Madam Bones appeared, both gasping for breath.

"Here," Fleur wheezed, the immaculate blonde doubling over, hands on her knees and head hanging down. Hermione darted to her side, easing the older girl's arm over her shoulder, and looked at the part-Veela worriedly. "He's  _here_."

Hermione fingered the button-trigger in her pocket, her face a grim mask. "Well," she murmured, "that  _was_  the goal."

"I suppose Malfoy felt the wards shatter after all," Lupin agreed, his eyes fixed on the darkened manor.

A sudden brilliant flare of white light shot up into the sky, illuminating the front steps, and Fleur gasped, jerking upright and clapping her hands over her mouth as they saw the gliding figure move steadily toward the pair on the steps. Suddenly, Harry's voice echoed in her mind  _Now_!

Hermione squeezed the trigger.

The earth  _roared_ , one hundred individual stacks of C4 exploding all at once. Hermione stumbled as the hill shook beneath her feet and she felt Professor Lupin grab her arm to steady her. Falling back against the older man's side, she stared at the giant cloud of smoke that swirled above the earth, twining with the brilliant white light that still streamed down from the lightning bolt suspended above what had once been a stately manor. They must have – surely they had –

 _We're out_ , Harry's voice sounded through the pendant. Her best friend sounded exhausted, but triumphant.  _Bill's in a state, but we made it._

Hermione sagged in relief, pressing the back of her hand to her eyes as tears stung her vision.

"They're okay," she whispered, and Fleur let out a strangled cry before spinning on her heel, Bones shooting them a worried look before following. Hermione only hoped they remembered to do the three in-between jumps before heading to the cottage.

Still somewhat holding her up, Lupin squeezed her shoulder with his other hand. "Think it killed him?" he asked hopefully, his eyes still trained on the explosion site.

"No," Hermione replied simply.

She felt the professor nod behind her. "Me either," he said quietly. "I just hope we bought the others enough time."

Hermione thought of her friend, who had just stood on the brink of an explosion and looked danger in the eye. And the others, who were about to walk right into danger with their eyes wide open.

Suddenly Nevile's frantic voice echoed through the pendant and she let out a gasp, clapping a hand over her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. She raised her wand and sent off a Patronus to Scrimgeour, her hands shaking. With a sharp breath, and shaking her head at a questioning Lupin, she closed her eyes and prayed to anything that might listen.

 _Please, let them all come home_.

 

* * *

 

_Nott Castle_

_Dover, Kent_

_England_

 

The gate swung open with a soft creak, and Ron winced as the sound seemed to echo in the darkness like a gunshot. Theo Nott stood in front of him, the gangly teen's face set in a blank expression.

"Why the bloody hell does  _Malfoy_  swagger all over the place?" Ron asked with a scowl. "You live in a bloody  _castle_."

Nott snorted, stepping back from the gate and waving him in. Ron walked through the gate, Moody on his heels with the paranoid ex-Auror glaring balefully around them. Right behind them were Vance and Hannah, with Sue, and Seamus falling in line. Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein were studying their surroundings curiously, nudging each other and murmuring quietly. McGonagall and Charlie were the last through, a shaky looking Augustus Pye standing between them.

"They're gone," Nott said simply as the group filed in. "Whatever your mates did to draw them out, it worked. My house-elves say they left about five minutes ago."

Ron nodded tersely, and Moody grunted beside him. "Which ones?"

Nott hesitated. "Lestrange is in charge," he said in a whisper. "I think Crabbe and Goyle are still here somewhere, and Dolohov. The Carrow brother. A few other minor players."

"Light guard," Vance commented, shooting Moody a worried look, and the ex-Auror grunted again.

"Aye, sounds too good to be true," Moody growled. He stomped forward on his peg-leg, wand held steadily out in front of him. "Alright, lad, show us what you've found."

Ron tuned them out, turning his head to gaze around the courtyard. They stood in a lightly wooded garden which was surrounded by ridiculously high stone walls. Tilting his head back, he could see a shimmer in the air above, what Bill had taught him to watch for to detect powerful wards. Likely to keep someone from being able to fly over the walls. Dozens of suits of armor lined the inside of the walls, spaced out every four feet or so, wicked-looking spears held rigidly at their sides. He moved curiously across the grounds to the nearest suit, narrowing his eyes at the visor covering the empty helmet. Were they animate, like the ones at Hogwarts?

He stood and stared for a moment, but the suit never moved.

"I have to key you in," Nott was saying, and Ron felt someone move to his side and spun to glare distrustfully at the Slytherin teen. Nott just frowned at him, then led Ron to a spot on the far wall, just outside a narrow opening that was likely to entrance to the main keep. He grabbed Ron's wrist and pressed his hand to a small plate on the wall, tapping his wand and muttering something, and a flash of yellow spread from the wall into Ron's hand. It stung horribly, like a swarm of bees had gotten him all at once. Ron grimaced, shaking his hand out as he stepped back, and moved aside for the others to be keyed to the wards.

Sue Bones was next, then Hannah, McGonagall, and Moody, glowering around the compound with his fake eye spinning constantly. Nott had just gestured Charlie forward when a shrill voice cut through the darkness, and Ron felt a chill run down his spine.

"Ickle Theo," Bellatrix Lestrange crooned, and Ron and Charlie spun, glaring up at the eastern wall where Bellatrix sat, swinging her feet back and forth over the side. "Tiny baby traitor, what  _are_  you doing?"

Ron cut his eyes towards Nott as he felt the teen freeze. For a second, he wondered if the other boy had betrayed  _them_ , had lured them to a trap – but no. He was too obviously terrified. The color had drained from the boy's face, and his hands trembled at his sides.

" _Now_  can I eat 'im?" a voice growled from behind them, and Ron and Moody spun to see Greyback crouching on the opposite wall, his teeth bared and his amber eyes glowing in the darkness. The werewolf growled low in his throat and looked across the courtyard, his eyes landing on Hannah. "Or  _that_  one," he whispered. "I smell blood on you, little girl. You smell  _delectable_."

The werewolf jumped down from the walls, landing with a loud  _thud_  on the ground, and Sue jumped in front of Hannah, shoving her back as Charlie spun and made towards them. At the other end of the courtyard, by the gates where they had come in, Dolohov and Carrow stood.

"Where's your friend?" Dolohov asked with a frown, his eyes boring into Ron. "I was so hoping we would get to play tonight."

He felt a movement behind him, a soft rustling noise, and the sound of clanging metal rang out as the suits of armor sprang to life. Nott grabbed his arm, yanking him back through the entrance as the suits rushed forward, advancing on the Death Eaters. Six of them surrounded Greyback, two skewering him with their spears, and the monster howled angrily, swinging one clawed hand and knocking the suits aside. Nott all but  _dragged_  him down a hallway and behind a tapestry, and he could hear the others running behind them as they followed him and Nott through winding passages and down narrow steps. He could hear Bellatrix screaming angrily behind them, heard the sudden ringing of a gong…

"She took them down," Nott said tersely. "They'll be right behind us."

They turned another corner, torches flaring to life around them, and Nott skidded to a halt, abruptly releasing Ron's arm. The weedy Slytherin doubled over, panting, and braced one hand on a set of bars as he struggled to catch his breath. Nott leaned heavily on the bars and drew his wand, pointing it at the entrance behind them, and a large wooden door slid down from the ceiling, closing them in.

Behind him, Ron heard Moody growling at the others to split into pairs and check the cells. His mentor stomped up behind him, eyeing Ron and Nott silently.

"They're outnumbered," Moody said to Ron, scowling. "Not ideal, since most of you are  _kids_ , but – "

Nott was shaking his head, and Ron felt himself go cold as he heard a shout from just down the hall. "They're not," he whispered, and Moody glared.

"What do you mean, they're  _not_?" the ex-Auror snarled. "It's basic maths, boy."

But Ron was staring at Nott, the pale boy's face twisted with guilt and fear. "The wards," he said slowly, and Nott turned his head to look at him, wincing slightly. "Why did you need to key us in? It wasn't to get inside, we're all in here."

Moody looked between the two of them and swore viciously. Bellatrix Lestrange's cackle sounded from the floor above.

" _Fuck_ ," Ron muttered, spinning on his heel. "Charlie! McGonagall! Hannah! Sue!"

His brother, professor, and classmates ran up, Sue holding a little girl on her hip. The tiny little girl, four at most, was covered in cuts and scrapes, blood caked on her side. Ron felt a surge of rage as he looked at the tiny thing, but he shook his head and scowled.

"The wards block magic if you're not keyed in. Charlie, none of you can do any spells," Ron said urgently. "Just me and Moody, McGonagall, Sue, Hannah and Nott."

"Well, fuck," Charlie muttered, and Hannah and Sue exchanged a worried look.

"Charlie, get back in there and grab as many as you can, Portkey out to the rendezvous," Moody growled. "Minerva, organize them and you and Abbott be ready to act as the second line of defense. We'll hold them off."

Sue nodded grimly, turning and handing the shaking little girl in her arms to Charlie. The little girl shrieked with fear, shaking and pounding her tiny fists on Charlie's shoulders. Ron watched as his brother closed his eyes, shaking his own self.

Then a clattering sounded behind them, and Charlie opened his eyes and nodded.

"Right, then, let's get to it," he said sharply, and he turned on his heel, carrying the little girl off down the hall with McGonagall and Hannah on his heels. Ron watched his brother disappear into the darkness then turned back to face Nott, Sue, and Moody.

"You can try to turn on us," Ron said conversationally to the Slytherin teen as Sue stepped up beside him. "But I'll kill you." Nott jumped, looking at him with undisguised terror, and Ron smiled grimly. "They've seen you. You were caught. What do you think  _they'll_ do to you?"

The Slytherin teen swallowed, his hands shaking at his side, but he jutted his chin forward, his eyes hardening. "I'd already decided I won't throw my lot in with them," he said evenly. "I won't hurt the innocent."

The door shook ominously before them. Ron eyed the heavy wooden door and shrugged lightly. He already knew what he needed to do. Moody had drilled a lot of tactics into his mind, but the one thing that had kept the Auror alive all this time was something that made  _no_  sense, yet seemed to work every time.

When outnumbered,  _attack_.

"Well, let's go, then," Ron said with a feral grin. He nodded to Moody and stepped forward, Nott hesitating a moment before following. Behind them, Sue and Moody stepped a few paces to either side, Sue sliding closer to the end of the hallway leading down to the cells. "How's your battle spell knowledge?" he asked the other teen, and Nott grinned.

"I read a lot," he said simply, and Ron scoffed.

"Good." With a sharp jab of his wand, he blasted the wooden door away, and Nott jumped beside him. An angry shriek echoed through the halls, and Ron grinned again at the sight of Bellatrix Lestrange pulling wooden splinters from her bleeding face.

He dove forward through the doorway, Moody and Nott on his heels, and began to fight.

 

* * *

 

"Move it," Pye muttered tersely, his hands shaking as he crouched beside another child. Charlie had already sent the first little girl along with Goldstein, five other small children in tow. As the least combat-ready of all of them – aside from Nott, but it was  _his_  house – he was the first to be removed. They moved quickly through the dozens of cells, each of them holding two to three children, and Charlie felt a fire growing in his veins with every step.

What kind of monsters tortured  _children_  for kicks?

He glanced behind him to where the Abbott girl was standing in the hallway, eyes narrowed as she glared down the hall towards the sound of bangs, shouts, and screams. Charlie winced as he heard his little brother's yell, but he forced himself to focus.

"This one will live," Pye said with a shaky sigh, removing his fingers from the pulse point of a pre-teen boy and standing quickly. "You," he gestured, and Terry Boot rushed forward. "Take her with the ones you've gathered. Get out of here. Tell Poppy she needs a nerve regenerative  _immediately_."

Boot swallowed, his face pale and his mouth set in a thin line, and nodded. A little boy of about six was already hanging from his back, one arm clinging desperately to his shoulders and the other dangling at an odd angle. A little girl of maybe ten with burn marks on her face had a hand fisted in her robes, and an Asian girl about Ron's age was leaning heavily on his side, a tiny little brunette three year old in her arms. As Charlie watched, Boot turned his head slightly to whisper to the little boy that was hanging off him.

"Hey, Nicky," the teen said soothingly, his voice trembling slightly, and Charlie felt a flash of pride. "Can you reach into my pocket and grab the paperweight there?"

The little boy nodded slowly, tears sliding down his dirt-covered face, and reached down, pulling out a small globe paperweight from Boot's pocket. Terry knelt on the ground next to the unconscious boy, and the Asian girl pushed the preteen girl forward. A second later, both of their hands were resting on Terry's shoulders. McGonagall stepped forward, her mouth set in a thin line, and tapped the Portkey with a scowl.

The small group vanished.

"How many more?" Hannah called back over her shoulder sharply, and Charlie scowled.

"Finnegan just took out ten," he said. "They were all relatively uninjured, so they were able to hold on themselves and form a human chain. Goldstein had six, Boot just took five more. Vance took the worst injured, the first seven. There are at least ten left."

"Dean?" Hannah asked.

"Back here!" a voice called, and Charlie spun as McGonagall and Pye looked up sharply. A shadow moved down the hall and the wiry black boy came into view, his face split in a relieved grin.

"How the bloody hell – ?" Pye asked, and Dean's grin widened.

"Picked the lock," Dean said simply. "I heard you."

Charlie let out a startled laugh and shook his head. He shoved by Pye without a word, walking up to the younger boy and clapping him on the shoulder. Dean winced, and Charlie grimaced in sympathy.

"The ones there," Dean pointed to the cell next to the one he had just escaped, "they were taken most recently. And in mine is Mandy and a couple other little kids, they're in bad shape."

"Why aren't you?" McGonagall asked sharply, her eyes narrowed on him. "Not that I'm not happy to see you mostly intact, Thomas, but – "

"I'm not sure," Dean frowned. "For some reason, they never really touched me aside from the odd curse here and there."

Charlie shot a worried look at McGonagall, and the Gryffindor head pursed her lips.

"We don't have time for this," Pye cut in, his hands trembling as another crash sounded behind them.

"You're right," Charlie said simply. "We're running out of people, and McGonagall has to stay to activate the Portkeys. Pye, why don't you take the next group, Dean, you grab a few as well." He handed each of them a paperweight and they nodded sharply, turning and setting off further down the hall. McGonagall shook her head lightly and followed. "Hannah," Charlie added, spinning around to face the teen. "We're almost done, you should take a few kids and get out of here yourself."

Hannah hesitated, frowning at him. "What about you?" she asked softly, and Charlie grinned lopsidedly at her.

"I have to go get my brother."

 

* * *

 

Sue's heart was pounding in her ears as she ducked, spinning quickly as she came out of the crouch and shooting another stunner at the man before her. The older version of Gregory Goyle grunted as he fell, his head cracking off the stone floor. A pool of blood began to form under his skull, and Sue grimaced.

She'd lost sight of the others a while before, now and then seeing flashes of red hair as Ron darted across the hall, hearing the thud of Moody's peg leg, so she knew they were still standing. Those  _four_  Death Eaters had quickly called reinforcements, but so far, Nott had been right. Aside from Lestrange and Greyback, it had all been minor players.

Then a man stepped through the doorway in front of her, his kohl-lined eyes raking up and down her body, and Sue smiled grimly. Hannah had described him perfectly.

"You must be Scabior," she said calmly, twirling her wand in her hand as the man leered. "I've heard of you."

"Have you, love?" the man sneered, licking his lips as he looked her over. He stepped slowly closer, his hands held up to either side of him and a wicked grin on his face. "My reputation precedes me, does it?"

Sue's heart thudded impossibly harder in her chest as he came within arm's reach. "You killed my best friend's family," she continued, and the vile man chuckled.

"I've killed a lot of people's families, love," he said softly, "you're going to have to be more specific."

"Two four-year-old boys," she hissed, "a nine-year-old, a father."

The man stared at her blankly, inching closer, then suddenly smiled. "Oh,  _Hannah_!" he exclaimed delightedly. His grin stretched wider, and Sue struggled to keep her breathing even as she moved, widening her stance as she stood in the middle of the hallway. "How is the poppet? I've been meaning to pay her a visit."

Sue snarled, slashing her wand through the air. " _Diffindo_ ," she hissed, and the man's throat split open, blood gushing out from under his chin as his eyes widened. Blood sprayed her face and her robes as the Death Eater fell to his knees. She watched stonily as he reached up, grabbing at his throat with one hand as he gurgled helplessly.

Then he was silent.

A low chuckle split the air and she looked up into the amber eyes of Fenrir Greyback. The werewolf was leaning casually against the wall, teeth bared, and he looked down at Scabior with undisguised glee. "Fool boy needs to learn not to play with his food," he growled, and Sue felt a chill run down her spine. She could see the back of Nott's head, but he was too far away, and Ron and Moody were nowhere in sight. She heard another crash ahead, heard Ron yell, and she backed up a step as Greyback moved towards her.

He was getting to Hannah over her dead body, she thought grimly.

 _He might_ , a voice in the back of her mind whispered, and Sue swallowed, raising her wand in a suddenly shaking hand.

Greyback smiled, clicking his teeth together, and stepped forward. Suddenly, his head snapped to the side and he narrowed his hateful amber eyes, sniffing at the air. With a rough swipe of his arm, he threw Sue against the wall and she gasped as her head slammed off the stone.

Seconds later, a man's scream echoed through the air.  _Charlie_ , she realized with a flash of horror, and she shot to her feet, wobbling slightly as the room spun around her head. She spun around and bolted down the hall, skidding to a halt as she saw Greyback leaning over Charlie Weasley's prone form. The werewolf had his hand around Charlie's throat, and blood seeped between his fingers. Sue swallowed down bile and raised her wand.

Another cutting curse flew threw the air, but Greyback was faster than the last, dodging to the side with inhuman speed. The curse clipped his shoulder and he roared with anger, spinning around to run at her. Sue ran towards him, diving to the ground at the last second, and rolled  _under_  his arm –  _just like training_ , she thought inanely as her head swam and spots appeared in front of her eyes. She came up in a crouch beside Charlie and grabbed the Portkey from his pocket as Greyback swung back around, pressing her hand to the open wound on Charlie's throat. She tucked the Portkey between her now-bloody fingers and levelled her wand on Greyback again, this time blasting him off his feet, then whispered " _Portus._ "

And held on for dear life.

 

* * *

 

Ron ducked under a jet of orange light and spun, firing off a concussion curse with one hand as he stabbed a nearby Death Eater in the throat with his dagger in the other. Their 'minor players' had outnumbered them six to one within minutes, random Death Eaters he'd never seen or heard of pouring into the fray from every direction. He'd long since lost sight of Sue and Hannah and hadn't heard a sound from the hallway behind them for a while.

Ahead of him, he saw Moody battling Lestrange and Dolohov single-handedly, the brilliant flares of light from their constant spellwork hurting his eyes. To his right, Nott was holding his own – though the Slytherin teen had been exaggerating about his battle spells, Ron thought with a snort. He seemed to be awfully reliant on stunners.

There'd been no sign of Voldemort, Malfoy, the Lestrange brothers – he prayed that meant Harry and Hermione and Bill had succeeded. They only needed to stall a few more minutes.

And hey, if he thinned the herd a bit, all the better, right? As he grinned viciously, Amycus Carrow collapsed in front of him, clutching at the now gaping hole in his side.

Then suddenly, it was too quiet. The two Death Eaters that had been creeping towards him straightened and backed away quickly. A glance around the hallway showed all of the Death Eaters backing off, forming a small ring around them. Dolohov was nowhere to be seen. And Moody stood in the center, eyes locked on an unusually solemn Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ron saw Nott shoot him a confused look out of the corner of his eye, and the Slytherin moved carefully to his side.

"Ron," Moody's voice cut through the room in a low echo of his usual growl. "Get the others and get out."

"What?" Ron gaped, staring at his mentor. They'd been  _winning_ , or at least holding their own. Why – ?

Then he felt Nott tense beside him, heard the Slytherin's sharp intake of breath, and followed his gaze to the strange, whirring golden contraption in Lestrange's hand.

Moody looked over his shoulder at Ron with his good eye, his fake one still trained on Lestrange. "I'm proud of you, boy," the ex-Auror said quietly. "I've never had a better student. Now  _go_."

Sue Bones' Patronus raced into the room, a silvery fox leaping up onto his shoulder and echoing  _All clear_. As Ron watched, Bellatrix grinned wickedly, and Moody shook his head.

"No," Ron said shakily, moving forward. " _No_."

"Nott!" the ex-Auror barked, and Ron felt the other teen band his arms around him, slipping the Portkey from his pocket. Ron growled, swinging his head back to headbutt the Slytherin, and suddenly, he felt the whirling sensation of an activated Portkey. As they vanished from the room, he saw Moody point his wand towards the ceiling.

They landed in a tangle and crashed to the ground, Ron growling angrily as he shoved Nott off himself and shot to his feet. He ignored the terrified cries of the kids around him, the shouts of his fellow DA members, and made for the door to the Shack, his face set in a grim mask. He had to get  _back_  there. He had to –

A pair of soft plump arms wrapped around him from behind, and Ron strained as his mother pulled at him from behind. A second set of hands joined in and Ron growled even more loudly. As he struggled, a flash of silver shot before his eyes.

"No!" he yelled. "No, I have to  _go back_! We left him there – we left – "

Tonks came into view in front of him, her usually playful face stricken. "Ron," she said softly, and Ron snarled again, kicking as Pye and someone else – Seamus – moved forward to help the others pull him back. "Ron, he's gone."

"No," Ron whispered. " _No_."

The fight died out of him and he went limp, and he heard a grunt as the arms that had been holding him back now tried to hold him up. Tonks moved forward and he let out a ragged sob, collapsing to his knees. Through the haze of building tears, he saw her bite her lip, glancing up at someone and shaking her head, then she knelt on the floor with him. The arms that had been holding him up let go, and he pitched forward, his head falling on Tonks' shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, and they crouched there together on the floor, a stunned silence falling over the Shrieking Shack as they wept together for their fallen mentor.

 

* * *

 

_Five minutes earlier_

 

Moody felt time freeze as he stared at the device in Lestrange's hand.  _Christ_. How many kids were still in the building? How many had they gotten out?

Dolohov slinked back and up the stairs with a wink, and Moody focused on Lestrange's face. The madwoman was grinning wickedly, her eyes sparkling.

"Surrender," she hissed. "Or I turn those ickle little fighters into goo."

He'd seen a trinket like the one she held once, in Russia. It had turned a city block to a pile of ash in seconds.

And he was fairly certain Lestrange was crazy enough to use it. No matter that she'd die along with them.

"Ron," he said lowly, "get the others and get out."

One of the Death Eaters nearest the Weasley kid started to move forward, and Bellatrix shot the man a poisonous look. He stepped back.

"What?" Ron asked incredulously from behind him, and Moody looked back at the boy with his real eye, his fake one still trained on Lestrange's face. The poor kid looked baffled, horrified, his eyes as huge as dinner plates in his face.

Moody gazed for a moment at the kid, the youngest son of a dear friend, who had seen horror after horror in his mind for months and had still fought against the darkness without ceasing. All from the tender age of eleven. He was sure the boy had no idea what he was on the way to becoming – but Moody saw it. Moody had seen it from the first time he'd stood across a dueling platform from the kid.

"I'm proud of you, boy," he said quietly, his voice choked up. If he could still cry, he imagined his eye would be watering right now. "I've never had a better student. Now  _go_."

A fox Patronus slammed into the room as Ron stared at him blankly, and the Bones girl's even voice rang out  _All clear_.

Bellatrix grinned wickedly, a soft giggle slipping from her lips. "He could stay, too," she whispered teasingly. "I've always wanted a baby boy." Moody just shook his head, his good eye still trained on Ron. Like  _hell_.

"No," the kid was whispering, and he started to move forward. " _No_."

"Nott!" Moody barked, glaring at the weedy kid, and the boy jumped forward, half-tackling Ron from behind. As Moody watched, the Slytherin boy grabbed Ron's Portkey and even as Ron tried to headbutt the other kid, they disappeared in a swirl of color.

Moody closed his eye, sagging in relief, then turned back to Lestrange with a grim smile.

The Death Eaters began to hoot and cackle around him, the entire lot slowly moving forward to bunch tightly around them, and Moody smiled even wider. Bellatrix, the loon, didn't seem to sense the danger, instead smiling brightly back at him.

"Alastor Moody," she whispered almost lovingly. "My Lord will be  _so happy_ to see you."

Moody just chuckled darkly. Raising the wand they hadn't yet bothered to take from him, he pointed it straight to the ceiling and whispered, " _Bombarda_."

As the ceiling caved in on them, as the Death Eaters shouted and Bellatrix screamed around him, Moody shot off one last Patronus before darkness took him.

 _I got her for you, Dora. Take care of the boy_.

 

* * *

 

_Azkaban Isle_

_Somewhere in the North Sea_

 

Neville swallowed nervously as he stared out at the rocky island, jutting up out of the sea. It was bloody freezing there, and as he watched, his breath turned to vapor before him. In the back of his mind, he could hear a high, cackling laugh, a man sobbing, a woman's screams.

He hated Dementors more than any other creature or being on Earth.

Beside him, Arthur Weasley stood stoic, his eyes fixed on the towering prison ahead. The twins flanked them, for once silent and serious, so pale that their freckles almost glowed in the darkness. Beneath their feet, the rickety little boat bobbed ominously, the icy sea spray soaking them with every movement forward.

Rufus Scrimgeour was at the helm of their tiny boat, his tawny eyes unblinking as he gazed across the shoreline. As Neville watched, the man shot off a single spell toward the coast, and it  _stopped_  just three feet away from the land, hovering in the sky above the shore. The gold light hovered there, then seemed to burst into dozens of small, glowing golden stars. Scrimgeour tapped the side of the boat and it sped up, and within minutes, they were stepping onto the shores of Azkaban.

Neville stepped up behind the other four men and looked around with a frown, his wand clenched between his frozen fingers. To send only five to Azkaban was madness, he knew, but then – they weren't there to fight.

While the vast majority of Death Eaters were occupied by their friends, they were there for reconnaissance.

Arthur tapped Neville on the shoulder and he started, jerking his head around to meet the older man's patient gaze. Neville nodded and followed as Arthur led him off to the right, in the direction of a small stone building that looked almost like guards' quarters. Behind them, Scrimgeour set off with the twins in the other direction, all of them stone-faced and silent.

They slipped into the quarters as the chill grew impossibly heavier. Neville gathered up every book and artifact he found, acting on Bill's instruction, but the Weasley patriarch scanned through the rooms with his eyes narrowed, opening every drawer and cupboard before finally letting out a triumphant hiss. Neville shot the older man a questioning look and his best friend's father shot him a mischievous grin. Reaching into the hollowed-out bottom of a drawer, he pulled out a tightly rolled parchment, and shook it out to reveal a perfect, detailed map.

"Yes," Neville hissed, and Mr. Weasley nodded.

Then a voice cut through the room, and Arthur Weasley went colder than Neville had ever seen.

"Art."

Arthur put a hand on Neville's arm, stilling the boy when he would have spun around. Moving slowly, he handed Neville first the map, then the small globe paperweight from his pocket. Neville clenched one fist around the two items, his wand clenched in the other, and gritted his teeth as Arthur Weasley turned, pushing Neville behind him.

"Augustus," Mr. Weasley said evenly, his mouth twisting in a grimace, and Neville started as he stared at the solemn face that belonged to Augustus Rookwood.

"Art, you shouldn't be here," the Death Eater said urgently. Carefully, Neville slipped the map and portkey into his pocket, straightening his wand as he stared at the man. To his shock, Rookwood actually looked alarmed, upset even, and he heard Mr. Weasley let out a low, bitter laugh.

"That's a laugh," the Weasley patriarch said quietly, shaking his head. "Neither should you."

"This is my home," Rookwood replied, shuffling forward slightly. "Artie – "

"Stay right where you are," Arthur said sharply, raising his wand and pointing it at the other man, and Neville just froze there, looking back and forth between the two.

Rookwood looked almost confused. The Death Eater gazed at Arthur's wand and licked his lips, his eyes darting to Arthur's face. "I never told, Artie," he said urgently. " _Never_. The Dark Lord didn't know until Croaker told Pius and Fudge. I kept your secret."

"What do you want, Augie, a gold star?" Mr. Weasley scoffed, his voice going low and cold. Neville stared.

This was  _not_  the version of Ron and Ginny's dad that he knew.

"I – " Rookwood began, licking his lips again and darting his eyes over to Neville. Mr. Weasley reached behind himself and gently shoved Neville back a few paces, moving him closer to the window on their left. "I heard you've got Brand working for you again, Art, you can't  _trust_  him!"

Mr. Weasley barked out a laugh. "Trust," he whispered. "How dare you talk about  _trust_."

"Art, you need to go.  _Now_." Rookwood replied. His eyes darted to Neville's face again and he paled, shooting a glance back over his shoulder.

"If you think I'm leaving you free to hurt another innocent, you've lost what little mind you have left," Arthur Weasley hissed. "No, Augie, I have to take you in."

"I'm not – "

Neville stiffened as he saw a familiar face appear across the rocks. As the other figure stalked closer, he gritted his teeth. "Mr. Weasley," he muttered, "we need to – "

A flash of orange light shot past Rookwood, and the other man shouted as Arthur collapsed, blood pouring from a huge gash on the side of his face. Neville jumped forward, diving between Mr. Weasley and Rookwood, but he needn't have bothered. The Unspeakable turned Death Eater had spun around angrily, hissing invectives and flinging curses in the direction of a confused Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Go!" Rookwood thundered, grabbing blindly for Neville. He closed his fist around Neville's upper arm and shoved, and Neville stumbled backwards, wrapping his arms around Mr. Weasley. He reached for the Portkey and whispered the activation, and Rookwood let out a bitter laugh.

"Portkeys don't work here, kid, levitate him and  _run_!" the Death Eater hissed, and as he watched, the terrifying man stalked forward out of the guard house, a pair of Dementors appearing from out of nowhere and flanking him. They advanced on Lestrange, the confused Death Eater having quickly adapted and started flinging curses at Rookwood instead. Behind the unlikely savior, Neville quickly levitated Mr. Weasley's prone form and rushed for the boat, his hands shaking the whole while. As he ran, he grabbed his pendant and called to Hermione, begging her to send a Patronus to Scrimgeour as his wand was rather occupied.

As shouts echoed behind him, he crested a sharp, rocky hill and slid down to the bottom, gritting his teeth to keep from losing his hold on Mr. Weasley. To his right, Scrimgeour and the twins appeared, their faces grim, and George ran forward and bodily lifted his dad from Neville, climbing into the boat with the older man held carefully in his arms. Fred jumped in and tapped his wand on the side of the boat as Neville clambered in shakily behind them, Scrimgeour standing on the shore with his back to them, watching their surroundings with narrowed eyes. After a moment's silence, the Auror jumped into the boat, and Fred sent them speeding off into the sea.

"Did you get anything?" Scrimgeour barked at Neville, and the teen reached into his pocket and pulled out the map.

The Auror smiled.

 

* * *

 

_Astronomy Tower_

_Hogwarts_

 

Luna stood atop the tower, gazing out over the lake. Her little moth sentry hovered by her side, the small golden creature doing figure-eights in the air around her and buzzing merrily.

Luna was not feeling very merry.

They had agreed that one of them needed to be at the school at all times, and Ginny wasn't exactly up to keeping an eye on things. But that didn't mean that she didn't wish she could be out there, could be with her friends.

The DA that wasn't quite battle-ready enough had stayed behind to patrol the school, reporting to Luna every hour. Ernie MacMillan had stayed up all night so far, the Hufflepuff patrolling every shift instead of just his assigned hour segment. Luna understood. All of his friends were in danger, too.

Ernie would be a good man one day, if he could ever get rid of the blubbering humdingers that crowded his head.

The smell of cherry cigars wafted on the breeze, and Luna turned her head to see Kingsley Shacklebolt walk up beside her, a cigar clenched between his teeth. He glanced down at her and tried to smile reassuringly, and Luna sighed.

"They're alright," she reassured him instead, and Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know?"

Luna smiled.

"Hermione is fine, if a little tired and shaken. Harry is exhausted and his hands hurt, and so does his head, but he's not injured. Very worried, however. Neville is confused and achy, and he saw something he doesn't know how to process. Ron is uninjured, but heartbroken and miserable." There, she frowned. "We lost someone."

"And Ginny's finally asleep," she added as Shacklebolt stared at her, "but I think she's having nightmares. I'll go check on her in a minute and cuddle with her. That usually helps."

The burly Auror was practically radiating discomfort, and Luna bit her lip and turned away, her eyes unfocused as she stared out across the grounds again. "Luna," Shacklebolt said slowly. "Are you an empath?"

Luna hummed to herself, the moth diving into her hair to hide.

Shacklebolt blew out a heavy breath, his discomfort giving way to the sense of sadness. "That must be exhausting," he murmured, and Luna smiled.

"I love people," she said quietly, glancing up at him. "I don't mind." She twirled one of her raddish earring in circles, staring out over the grounds contemplatively. "I do wish Hermione would tell the others," she continued. "Ron and Neville are starting to realize something is wrong."

Shacklebolt stiffened, a harsh breath hissing between his clenched teeth. Luna frowned at him worriedly, then straightened up suddenly, her eyes fixed on the Shrieking Shack. Her hand slipped to her communication pendant and she heard Ron's voice tiredly echoing in her mind.

"We need to get the Room of Requirement ready," Luna told Shacklebolt lightly. "They are about to start moving everyone up."

Turning around, she made her way back into the castle, humming softly to herself.

All of her friends had made it home.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Timworth, Cornwall_

 

Harry paced anxiously in the living room as low voices sounded from the room above. They'd been back for ages, it felt like, and Bill still hadn't woken. The man lay perfectly still in his bed upstairs, not even his eyelids flickering. His skin was so pale it almost seemed translucent.

He was breathing normally. There were no open wounds, save the small cut on his hand where they'd done the bloodletting. He hadn't been hit by any spell.

Harry didn't understand why the man wouldn't wake.

Pomfrey and Pye were busy, overloaded with patients from the rescue at Nott Castle, and as far as he knew, they wouldn't be able to make it for hours. Fleur was still upstairs, crouching over Bill's prone form, whispering quietly to him. Harry hadn't been able to stand it any longer and left the room and had been pacing in the living room for hours.

Hermione had looked at him and bitten her lip, tears welling in her eyes, then turned on her heel and walked out of the house. Harry hadn't even spoken up, hadn't turned around, just kept pacing.

Suddenly, the screen door banged open behind him, and Harry spun around to see Hermione walking back into the house, a trio of people behind her. The smallest man was in the front, an olive-skinned Frenchman who was glowering around the room. Behind him was a tall, slender girl with dark purple hair, and a burly man with a buzzcut and a huge scar running from his hairline, down  _across_  his eye, and to his jaw.

"Upstairs," Hermione murmured, and she jerked her head at Harry, who stared at her, stunned.

"Hermione," he said slowly, "who  _are_  these people?"

She shook her head and bolted up the stairs, the purple-haired woman right on her heels. Harry drew his wand and scowled, eyeing the other two men a moment before he ran up after her.

If Hermione had gone mad and brought total strangers into the house, he'd risk being cursed in the back to get to Bill and Fleur in time.

But when he reached Bill's room, to his shock, the purple-haired woman was hugging Fleur gently, and the Frenchwoman was crying on her shoulder. Harry stopped inside the doorway, raising an eyebrow at Hermione, and the girl just shrugged.

"Fleur asked me to," she said quietly, as the two strange men entered the room behind him.

"You must be Harry," the purple-haired woman said suddenly, turning away from Fleur and smiling at him. She was very pretty, Harry noticed, and she actually looked rather familiar as well. The woman's grin turned rather impish as Harry flushed. "I'm Alex."

"Lex, stop flirting with the kid," the buzzcut man groaned, and Alex grinned even wider.

"One of my cousins is in your year, actually; Daphne," she said to Harry, and Harry nodded absently. What did that matter? Were they here to help Bill or to talk about his classmates?

"Right," Alex said suddenly, shaking her head, "boys, spread out and find it. He'd have to keep it nearby; try his workshop first."

"You can't get in – " Harry started, and the small Frenchman chuckled, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he turned and went back down the stairs. The buzzcut man followed as Alex sat on the edge of Bill's bed, drawing her wand and casting charms at his guardian.

"Zey are Beel's teammates, 'Arry," Fleur said softly, her eyes shining with tears. "I tought perhaps zey could help heem."

"And we probably can," Alex said quietly, not looking up. "Hermione, you said he did a massive cleansing ritual earlier?"

"Yes," Hermione said immediately.

"Have any of you seen his fingers give off blue sparks?"

Harry stared, a sudden dread forming in the pit of his stomach. "What's happening to him?" he demanded.

The mystery woman glanced over at Fleur and frowned. "That's… not for me to say," she said slowly, and Fleur glared back at her, tossing her head haughtily.

"Beel and I do not 'ave seecrets," Fleur declared, her accent thickening in her anger.

Alex was silent.

The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house and two pairs of boots thundered up the stairs. The two men swept back into the room, one of them holding a small crystal vial. Harry stared. The liquid inside was the exact same color as the blue sparks that he'd seen coming from Bill's hands.

Without a word, the larger man handed Alex the vial, and she uncorked it, reaching down and forcing Bill's mouth open and pouring the contents in his mouth. Immediately, she jumped up, backing away from the bed. Bill went even more impossibly still, then suddenly he gasped, his body seizing, and bolts of blue lightning erupted from his hands, the current sparking and shooting all over his body. Fleur screamed, jumping forward, but Alex rounded the bed and grabbed the smaller woman, dragging her back.

"'e won't 'urt me!" Fleur gasped, struggling to get free as tears rolled down her face. On the bed, Bill's body continued to seize, his eyes still closed. Harry reached out and grabbed Hermione without thinking, pulling her into his chest and back towards the wall, and his best friend buried her face in his chest, sobbing as Harry stared at his guardian.

"No," Alex grunted out as she held Fleur back. "He'll hurt himself trying not to hurt you."

The current suddenly vanished, and the heavy scent of ozone hung in the air as the freak lightning storm reduced to a few stray sparks shooting between Bill's fingertips. The group stared at him silently, before Alex let go of Fleur's arms and rounded the bed again. Bill's teammate sat next to his pillow as Fleur bent over his other side, gently clasping one of his still-sparking hands.

Slowly, Bill opened his eyes and stared at Fleur, then glanced over at Harry, a look of intense relief crossing his face.

Then he saw the group in his room, and his face darkened.

"What the hell are you lot doing here?" he asked, and Alex grinned as the small Frenchman scowled. Hermione slowly peeked around Harry's arm.

"You're welcome," the purple-haired woman said cheerfully, and Bill sighed, shooting her a look before giving her a small smile.

Alex smiled back, the look fading slowly as she looked down at Bill. "We can still fix this, you know," she said softly, and Bill scowled.

"No."

"But – "

Bill sighed tiredly. Slowly, he squeezed Fleur's hand where it was still wrapped around his. "This  _is_  the fix, Alex; it's the best it's going to get."

"Doubt it," the burly man said in a thick Aussie accent, and Bill shot him a glare.

"We've been in Peru, Deacon and me," Alex continued, and Bill looked back at her, brow furrowed. "Looking for a cure."

Bill let out another heavy sigh. "There are consequences for everything, Alex. This is mine," he said simply. He flexed the fingers of his free hand and glanced down at his fingertips as everyone in the room watched him silently. " _Some_  good should come of – "

"She was my friend, too," Alex whispered, and Bill's face shuttered.

Turning his head, Bill looked straight to Harry. "Has everyone reported in?" he asked. With a slightly shaking arm, Bill pushed himself into a seated position then turned to sit on the edge of the bed, raising Fleur's hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

Harry stared back at him a moment, then shook himself. "Yeah. Rescued every prisoner they found from Nott Castle. We lost Moody." A look of grief flitted across Bill's face, and Harry bit his lip as the Auror's gruff voice sounded in his mind. "Everyone else made it back okay. Your dad was hurt on Azkaban but he's apparently fine. No other major injuries."

"So we got lucky," Bill muttered, and Harry glanced at Hermione, who was biting her lip.

The Frenchman was muttering darkly, and Bill shot him a poisonous look. "Why the bloody hell are you doing this?" the small man grumbled. "Do you  _want_  to put us all in an early grave?"

Silently, Harry agreed with the grouchy Frenchman.

"Lou, I didn't know you cared," Bill grinned back at the man, shrugging. "Look, you two need to stop trying to find me a cure. If you want to help me, you can help him." He gestured at the still grumbling Frenchman, who stared at him blankly. "There's some things we're working on."

"If this is still about…" Deacon began, his eyes narrowed, and Bill smiled at him innocently.

The purple-haired woman glanced over at Harry and Hermione, then Fleur, then looked back to Bill.

"Well, we're already here," she said simply, shrugging one slender shoulder. "So what's the mission, ace?"

Bill grinned at Harry, then winked. "Wanna help us find an ancient fortress?"

 

* * *

 

_Tonks Cottage_

_Sandalwood Bay, Scotland_

 

Rufus sat gingerly in the squashy armchair, his eyes fixed on his old friend's face. He waited silently, watching the other man's chest rise and fall with his slow steady breaths. Taking in the perfectly unmarred flesh of his face. The disappearance of the old scar on his jaw by his right ear.

Arthur stirred suddenly, bolting upright when he realized he wasn't alone. The Weasley patriarch sagged back against the headboard when he saw Rufus, a small grimace crossing his face.

"You should be dead, Art," Rufus said without preamble.

Arthur just looked back at him.

"What was in the chest, Arthur?"

Silence.

Rufus scowled, stretching out his legs and propping his ankles up on the end of Arthur's bed. "When you stuck that thing in your skin, whatever it was," he said lightly, "all of your rather  _severe_  injuries immediately vanished. You had literally  _cooked_  your internal organs, trying to control the overpowered Fiendfyre you cast. You were dying, did you know that?"

A muscle ticked in Arthur's jaw as the man stared straight ahead.

"But you stick that thing in your arm and," he snapped his fingers, "you're in perfect health again." Rufus dropped his feet back to the floor and leaned forward, staring steadily at his old friend and colleague. "What  _is_ it, Arthur? Did you go back and get it after we hid it together?"

"No," Arthur said suddenly, still staring at the wall. His friend raised one hand and tiredly rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes. "No, it must – " He opened his eyes suddenly, letting out a shaky breath. "Some of my blood must have seeped through the chest. Of course."

"I need to know, Art," Scrimgeour said urgently.

Arthur turned his head and looked at him. "I need to go check on Molly," he said calmly, pushing up from the bed. Rufus moved to block his path.

"Did it just heal you, Arthur?" he asked quietly. "Or did it take you over, too?"

"I am very much alone in here," Arthur murmured, a wry smile on his face. Scrimgeour stared at his old friend, eyes narrowed.

"How do you know?" he demanded.

"It's my  _job_  to know," Arthur replied, pushing past him. He moved to the door and stepped out into the hallway, whistling softly to himself.

"You never let anyone help you, you know!" Rufus called after him, his face twisted with scowl.

Arthur stopped on the landing, glancing back over his shoulder. Rufus stared at his friend, and strangely, he relaxed slightly when he saw the flash of sorrow in his friend's eyes.

Yes, Arthur  _was_  still in there. What was doing this to him, on the other hand?

"Every decision has consequences," Arthur said softly. "This is mine."

And turning his back on his old friend, Arthur disappeared down the stairs.

Scrimgeour stood alone in the room, staring at the door where his friend had stood, and a feeling of dread formed in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

A/N: Ron’s musing of ‘when outnumbered, attack’ comes directly from a brilliant fanfic work by Robin4 called the Unbroken Universe.  It is just now starting to be cross-posted onto this site, but the entire complete series is on FF.N, or at least it was a few days ago. If you haven’t read this series, you need to.  Her rendition of the Marauders is incredible, and her Sirius Black is quite possibly one of my favorite fan fiction characters ever. 

 

~*~ALIBI


	14. If Ye Break Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Though I'm usually very firmly against revealing anything ahead of time or outside the story itself, I've had more than a couple reviews on the subject of Snape. Seems quite a few people hope he'll 'come around,' as one of you put it.
> 
> Now… don't get me wrong. There are some amazing stories that make a great case for a Severus Snape on the side of the good guys, even if he isn't necessarily a kind or good person himself. There are even a couple that made me LIKE the man – and I hate Snape with a fiery passion. (As examples, check out Pet Project by Caeria, and the Like None Other series by aspeninthesunlight. Both have a Snape who isn't friendly, who is largely in character, but still a 'good guy.' And actually extremely interesting.)
> 
> THIS is not one of those stories. My Severus Snape will not come around. He will not redeem himself. My Severus Snape is a complicated person in many ways, but at the end of the day, he will always do whatever it takes to GET whatever he wants, damn the consequences to anyone else. He's always right, he's always justified, and he's always the victim.
> 
> And really... if Lucius freaking Malfoy being somewhat startled and shocked by Snape's proclivities wasn't enough of a warning for you? ('Your idea of 'hunting' is too much even for me, old friend' he says while they're drinking together.) Well… you'll see. Might want to start bracing yourself now.
> 
> Here's hoping all my readers continue to enjoy the story and… well, if you're Snape fans, I'm sorry. Hopefully, you still enjoy the story despite that.
> 
> (Also, while I'm breaking the fourth wall... Cursed Child does not EXIST to me, because just NO.)
> 
> Now... onward, I suppose. They do a lot of talking in this one. 
> 
> ~*~ALIBI

 

_Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

_June 23, 1996_

_(Ten weeks ago)_

 

Harry had been 'home' for only two days, and already, he had forcibly stopped himself from re-packing his trunk no less than six times.

The Dursleys had been more – tolerable, he supposed – than he had known them to be in years. They hadn't locked away his trunk and wand like normal, hadn't trapped Hedwig in her cage, hadn't tried to lock him in the second bedroom. In fact, aside from giving him his chores, they had hardly spoken to him at all. Aunt Petunia didn't even  _look_  at him.

But there was something in Vernon Dursley's eyes. Something Harry had seen on many other faces already throughout his life, and it made his skin crawl.

Thank goodness, the man and his whole family had left that morning for a drill convention. They would be gone for an entire  _week_.

And apparently, Moody really  _had_  frightened his Uncle Vernon, because not only had they left him food, they'd even left the padlock off the fridge. He couldn't remember the last time they'd actually left him full run of the kitchen. He wasn't sure they ever had.

Harry rocked back on his heels and rubbed the back of his arm across his forehead, letting out a heavy sigh as he glared down at the plant. He'd been fighting with that exact rosebush for over an hour already. If Neville were there, Harry was fairly certain he'd already be halfway through the yard.

It was unusually chilly for a June day, but he'd been working in the yard for so long that he'd already begun to work up a sweat. With another scowl, he picked up the trowel and began stabbing the dirt around the stubborn rosebush.

"I don't know what that plant did, but I'm sure it's very sorry," a voice called from behind him, and Harry shot to his feet, spinning quickly towards the sound. One hand dove into his pocket for his wand and the other tightened around the trowel, brandishing the garden tool like a knife.

A tall man stood on the curb, his hands casually shoved in the pockets of his black leather jacket, an amused grin on his face. The strange man had long red hair pulled back in a ponytail with a fang earring dangling from one ear. Under the jacket, he was wearing a dark concert t-shirt, and his black jeans were ripped and frayed in spots. Harry was sure he'd seen the man before somewhere – then it clicked.

"Bill?" Harry asked suspiciously, and the older man's grin widened.

"At your service," the eldest Weasley son said cheerfully, bending forward at the waist and bending his arm in an exaggerated bow. As Harry watched silently, Bill straightened up and looked around the yard, his eyes narrowed slightly. After a moment's pause, he strode into the yard and came to a stop at the front stoop next to Harry, calmly sitting down and studying the street. All the while, Harry noticed, he was turning a small blue gem in circles in his palm.

"Is this what you do for fun, when you aren't saving the world?" Bill asked after a moment, eyeing Harry with a frown. "I mean, to each his own, but from what I've heard you don't seem the gardening type."

Harry scowled at him lightly, and the older man quirked a grin. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked curiously. "Did the Order send you?"

At this, the cursebreaker let out a startled laugh. "Ah, no," he said after a moment, coughing quietly. "No, the Order didn't send me."

"Then what – ?"

"I wanted to talk to you, Harry," Bill replied easily, turning on the stoop to look at him. "You're my youngest brother's best friend. Ginny has worshiped you since the day she  _finally_  realized that there were other people on the planet than just our family." The man shrugged. "My family matters to me, and you matter to them. I thought that you and I should at least have a passing familiarity."

Harry stared.

After an awkward pause, Bill laughed again. "What, this?" he asked, gesturing towards the gem in his hands. Whether Bill was genuinely misunderstanding, or just being nice and giving him an excuse for his staring, Harry couldn't quite tell. "It helps me to see the wards," Bill explained, holding up the gem towards the sky. "Want to see?"

Harry looked at the man questioningly then held out his hand, and Bill dropped the gem into his outstretched palm. With a slight frown, the cursebreaker tapped his wand on the gem. He whispered something under his breath and Harry gasped. All around them, beams of light in a brilliant emerald green had appeared, arching up over the house towards the sky, disappearing into the grass. The light seemed to be constantly shifting and moving, like there were small particles travelling along the beams. It was a strange but beautiful sight.

Suddenly, he realized how incredibly flashy a lightshow the wards  _were_ , and he looked worriedly up and down the street.

Bill laughed again, reaching out and taking the gem back out of his hand. "They can't see them," he said reassuringly, tucking the gem into his pocket. "Actually, they can't see us at all." With a slight sigh, the man turned his attention on Harry, frowning at the teen's face. "I am a bit concerned now, though," the cursebreaker murmured. "You took that out of my hand without doing any check, and without even knowing for sure that I am who I say I am."

"Dumbledore said the wards will keep out anyone who means me harm," Harry replied, although he felt a sudden flash of dread. What  _if –_?

"Not exactly," Bill muttered, glaring at the door behind him, then he glanced out over the yard again, his eyes narrowed. Harry felt a strange sensation in the air, almost like static building around them, but he shook his head and the feeling vanished. "They are brilliant, I'll give him that. Intricately done." The cursebreaker pushed to his feet and crossed the yard to stand at the edge of the property next to number 6. "I've seen this signature before, but I can't quite place it. Fortescue's for sure, but… They tied in here, and – " Kneeling, the man touched the ground with the tips of his fingers, then rubbed the dirt between his thumb and index finger. "Is this  _really_  a seven-layer cascading – "

Harry cleared his throat.

Jumping to his feet, the cursebreaker spun around and gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry, forgive my nerd moment. I love a good mystery." His grin vanished after a moment and he regarded Harry seriously, his eyes narrowed again. "It's a dangerous world these days, Harry, you know that better than most. You need to be more careful."

"Fine," Harry muttered, letting out a tired sigh. Everything Ron had told him about his eldest brother suggested a laid-back, fun-loving guy, but Harry felt like he'd been lectured more in the last couple minutes than he usually dealt with for  _days_  – excepting Snape or McGonagall. Honestly, did this man think he was Harry's  _teacher_?

"What lives in your parents' attic?" Harry asked suddenly.

"A ghoul," Bill replied instantly, "likes to rattle his chains around at night."

"Where did you meet Fleur?"

Here, the seemingly cool man flushed slightly, hesitating before answering. "Hogwarts," he said shortly. "At the final task for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Visiting  _you_."

Harry nodded, the matter settled in his mind. He'd quizzed the man; maybe now he'd lay off on the security lecture before he really got going. "How is she doing?" he asked absently.

"Fine," the cursebreaker glowered at him a moment, then walked over to sit back down on the stoop. "Where are your relatives?"

"Gone," Harry said, biting back a scowl.

"And how long are you going to be alone here?"

"Er," Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck with the trowel. Bill watched the movement and made a face. "A few days."

The cursebreaker frowned again, nodding slowly. "Right, then," he said as if to himself. Standing abruptly, the eldest Weasley son spun around and looked at Harry. "Well, I just got in this morning and I'm starving. Know anywhere good around here?"

"Ah…" Harry set the trowel back in the basket by the steps and sighed. "I don't really – "

"That's alright." Bill clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "We'll find something. Come on."

 

* * *

 

He wasn't sure exactly how it happened, but thirty minutes later, Harry found himself sitting in a center booth across from Bill in a small Muggle diner. The cursebreaker smiled charmingly at the waitress, who turned bright red and forgot her own name then dropped the menus in Harry's lap. After letting out a mortified sigh, the woman literally put her head in her hands, counted to ten, then looked up to calmly take their orders. Or looked at Bill, rather – she didn't seem to even realize Harry was there. Bill just smiled politely the whole time.

Then doubled Harry's hesitant request for a BLT, giving the teen a quelling look when he protested.

For being a stranger, the cursebreaker was surprisingly comfortable to be around. It was awkward at first, Bill prodding slightly to start conversation. After a short time, the older man seemed to realize Harry wasn't really the sharing type, and instead, he began to regale the teen with tales from his jobs.

Harry didn't say much of anything for a while, sitting there quietly and letting Bill's stories wash over him. The older man told him about the pyramids in Egypt – Harry had wanted to go since he'd first seen a book on them in the library when he was six. He told him about traipsing through the jungles in Peru. He told him about braving a blizzard in the Ukraine. All the while glancing at Harry's plate every time the teen stopped eating, raising one eyebrow before continuing with his story.

Harry wasn't sure why he picked up the sandwich every time Bill did that and started eating again, either. He felt like he was being managed.

Finally, after about an hour – and after Marissa the embarrassed waitress had brought them two drink refills and a slice of pie each – Bill began to ask Harry questions.

He asked about Harry's favorite class subjects, both at Hogwarts and in muggle primary before. He asked about Harry's favorite hobbies, his favorite books, his favorite foods.

The older man didn't say one word about Harry's childhood, the dangerous things that had happened at Hogwarts, or the people he had lost. Instead, he ran with every answer to the simple questions that Harry granted, spinning each one into a story about something silly from his past, or about Ron, Ginny, Charlie, the twins.

Harry was baffled.

Somewhere along the line, it stopped being awkward, and he and Bill were going back and forth with an easy familiarity, shooting random questions at each other. Bill had laughed out loud when Harry recounted the tale of turning his teacher's wig blue. It was when Harry was trying to figure out how to answer the question "where have you always wanted to visit?" that the door to the diner swung open. He stiffened in his seat as the tall, elderly man stepped through the door, his long beard sweeping towards his knees.

Across the table, Bill straightened slowly from where he'd been leaning forward, something flickering across his face. He flashed Harry a quick wink then looked at the Headmaster calmly, a friendly smile fixed to his face.

"Ah, Harry, there you are," Dumbledore said gently, slipping into the booth beside Harry with a wince. Fixing a stern look on Bill, the Headmaster said in a near-whisper, "William, it is not safe to remove Harry without a guard."

Bill smiled politely, setting down his fork and sliding his plate across the table to the Headmaster, who looked down at the blueberry pastry and frowned. "I'm right here," Bill said, and Dumbledore's frown deepened.

"You are one man," the Headmaster replied. "And Harry is safest on Privet Drive."

Harry sat there, his mind flashing through all the hundreds of times he'd  _not_  been safe on Privet Drive, and bit back a retort. As he scowled, he began to shove his leftover pie around the plate with his fork. Across the booth, Bill's eyes slid down towards his plate, and Harry sighed and began to fork up bites of pie again. Bill smiled at him lightly, then turned back to Dumbledore.

"I cast a notice-me-not on him, as I know you realize, since it took even  _you_  a moment to spot him," the cursebreaker said calmly. "I cast a rather large dampening net over the area, as well as several strategic blockers, and I muddled our trail along the way. I have a mobile ward around the table and, all of that aside – no Death Eater has been spotted nearby in the last couple days, and no one knows I've returned to England yet."

"I suppose I don't need to ask how you got past the guard," Dumbledore mused, finally picking up the fork and prodding at the leftover pie. "Clearly, Nymphadora had more than one reason to ask to trade shifts with Sturgis."

Bill shrugged, a slight grin teasing at the corner of his mouth. "You are about to start training, correct?"

With a sudden scowl, the Headmaster set down his fork, though he looked regretfully at the pie. "How do you know about that?" he asked softly, and Bill simply shrugged again.

"As I understand it, you've already paired them off," the cursebreaker continued. "Two mentors per student – but Harry's only got you."

Harry looked back and forth between the two men, his brow furrowed.

"For one, you weren't planning to teach him at Privet Drive," Bill continued calmly. "But for another… you're a busy man, Headmaster, were you really going to leave Harry depending on only  _you_?"

The air around them seemed to sharpen as the two men stared at each other. The silence stretched on, and Harry had the awful feeling he was missing something. He scowled, and Bill's eyes flickered over to his face for a moment before the cursebreaker turned back to Dumbledore.

Harry  _hated_  being left in the dark.

 _You're not being left in the dark_ , a voice in his mind sounded.  _He's bringing this up to Dumbledore right in front of you. You didn't_ _ **know**_ _about any of this_.

Harry's estimation of Bill Weasley grew slightly. His scowl vanished.

Next to him, the two men finally ceased their staring contest. Reaching back down for the fork, Dumbledore's expression softened somewhat. "Are you volunteering, young William?"

"I am," Bill said, waving to the waitress.

Dumbledore frowned, fixing the younger man with a disappointed stare. "If you wanted to help with the war effort, we could have used you this past year."

The cursebreaker just gazed at Dumbledore steadily. "I had things to do."

"And now?"

"I have things to do here."

Harry choked back a laugh as Dumbledore's brow furrowed. Before the Headmaster could reply, Marissa returned, no longer bright red, and smiled at Bill bashfully.

"Love, can we get a slice of pie for my grandfather here?" he asked with another wink, and Marissa nodded brightly and rushed off to the kitchens as Bill tossed a roll of notes on the table. Rising to his feet, he nodded at the door. "Come on, Harry, we've lots to do before I bring you back for the evening."

Harry hesitated, shooting a worried glance at Dumbledore, before he scooted out of the booth and stood. Bill clapped Dumbledore on the shoulder with an easy smile then moved towards the door as Marissa bustled back to the table with a plate in hand.

"William," Dumbledore called, and Bill stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow. "Come to my office this evening."

Bill nodded silently, then opened the diner's door and gestured for Harry to go first. The teen could feel Dumbledore's eyes following them.

"The shore," he said suddenly, and Bill frowned.

"Come again?"

Harry flushed, glancing down at the ground. "I've never been to the shore."

"Well," Bill smiled and held out his arm. "That's an easy fix."

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

_Present Day_

_September 5, 1996_

 

Harry woke with a start, his eyes flying open and his wand clenched in his hand as he stared around the room. He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep – but he must have, because Fleur had been sitting in an armchair when last he saw her. The teen smiled when he saw the part-Veela tucked into the bed beside Bill, her arms wrapped protectively around the cursebreaker. Both were sound asleep.

Bill had woken twice since they had returned from Malfoy Manor, both times relatively alert and in good spirits. When he'd tried to stand the first time, however, sparks had run from his feet into the floor and nearly started a fire. It had been his friend Alex who had basically forced him back into bed, ordering him to sleep it off.

His heart had stopped once, just before midnight when he woke the next time, then started again of its own accord before they could even call for Pomfrey.

He and Fleur hadn't dared to leave Bill's side.

"You need to get some rest somewhere more comfortable, lad," a soft voice sounded, and Harry looked up into the worried face of Arthur Weasley. The Weasley patriarch looked exhausted, but he smiled gently at Harry, holding out a hand to pull the teen to his feet.

"I don't need sleep," Harry said shortly. "I need coffee."

Arthur snorted quietly. "Well, that isn't in this room either."

Harry glanced at his guardian a moment, frowning, and Mr. Weasley's gaze followed his. As they stood there, the older man let out a tired sigh. "I'm worried about that boy," Mr. Weasley confessed, and Harry swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Here." The Weasley patriarch tapped his wand on the headboard of his son's bed, stepping back and nodding to himself. "If something bad happens, we'll know," he said simply, and turned and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry glanced back over his shoulder again but allowed himself to be steered down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was early, the sun not yet rising over the horizon, and a grey fog was rolling across the beach. Harry sat silently at the kitchen table, staring out the window. Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, Arthur crossed to the coffee pot and began to set it up.

Harry frowned, watching him. The coffee pot had been adapted for magic, sure, but it was still rather Muggle in design. And this was the man who couldn't say 'electricity' right and didn't understand what batteries or plugs were for.

 _While running a Ministry department dedicated to tracking altered Muggle items_ , he thought, scowling.  _While altering a car to_ _ **fly**_ _._

Mr. Weasley was many things, Harry realized, but stupid was not one of them.

"Does anybody know it's an act?" he asked simply, and Mr. Weasley looked back at him with a furrowed brow.

"Come again?"

Harry gestured at the coffee pot in the dim light from the lantern. "Your lack of knowledge on all things Muggle," he explained. "Does anybody else realize you're faking that?"

The steady drip of the percolator echoed through the room. With a strained laugh, Arthur set down the mugs he'd pulled from the cabinet and shook his head. "No," he replied quietly, shooting Harry a rueful grin that was oddly reminiscent of his eldest son. "No, aside from Bill and the people who already knew, they don't realize."

Harry nodded, accepting the mug Mr. Weasley passed to him. He took a couple gulps of coffee as the balding man sat across from him, letting out a sigh. The older man looked worn, dark spots under his eyes and his hands tremoring now and then.

"It must be exhausting," Harry said lightly, setting down the mug. He met Mr. Weasley's eyes with an understanding smile, and the Weasley patriarch grimaced.

"Yes, well, you would know a bit about keeping things back, I imagine," the older man murmured, a flash of sadness crossing his face. Harry bit his lip, looking down.

"How long?" Harry asked, and he heard another heavy sigh from the man across from him. He glanced up again and saw the eldest Weasley studying him quietly, a frown on his face.

"Well, as Croaker has already outed me rather thoroughly," the older man said with a laugh and a scowl. "Twenty-five years, Harry. We started it twenty-five years ago."

Harry gaped at the man. Behind him, the sun started to creep over the shore, throwing long shadows across the dunes. "Why?"

Mr. Weasley quirked a grin. "Bill was a baby, and Charlie was already on the way. My family tends to be…  _prolific_ , and I knew Molly wanted a large family. You didn't  _really_  think the Ministry pays enough in a low-level department to feed nine mouths and maintain a home, did you?" Shaking his head, Mr. Weasley sighed again. As Harry stared, the balding man leaned back in his chair, rubbing tiredly at his temples. "No. In all seriousness… while that's certainly true as well, in 1970, Voldemort hadn't yet arrived on the world stage. But there were already whispers. Wizards and witches live long lives, so in the grand scheme of things, Grindelwald's war hadn't been over for very long. It shattered the country, turned brother against brother – the man was very persuasive."

He frowned, biting his lip as he stared at something off in the distance. "There were rumors of a charming, intelligent young man travelling the world and attempting to gather up items of importance – family heirlooms, charmed artifacts, ancient texts. Nobody knew what he was trying to do, if anything. But the International Confederation was rather wary."

Harry frowned. "So they came to you? Why?"

Mr. Weasley glanced over his shoulder as the sun finally started to ascend in the sky behind him. Getting to his feet slowly, he flicked off the lantern by the sink, grabbing Harry's empty mug and pouring them both a refill. "You know, Harry, I've never quite figured that out," he chuckled, and Harry grinned. "But whatever the reason, I was approached by a wizard from the Confederation. And so the task force began. We travelled the world, routing out ill-intentioned witches and wizards that were beginning to gather followers –  _before_  they could do any real damage. Gathering up lost items and artifacts that would pose a danger to the wizarding world and keeping them safe."

"But Voldemort still rose," Harry pointed out. He closed his eyes for a moment as his mother's screams began to sound in the back of his mind.

Mr. Weasley nodded simply, a sad look on his face. "He was always ahead of us," the Weasley patriarch said quietly. "Quite frankly, I don't believe we were ever anywhere close to impacting him."

Harry fell silent, fiddling with his dragon tooth necklace.

"Your father almost got him once, you know," Mr. Weasley murmured, and Harry's eyes shot up to the older man's face. Arthur smiled at him gently. "James Potter, Sirius Black, and Frank and Alice Longbottom were the best Aurors for a generation. Your father and Sirius, especially, were nearly unstoppable. Always did tend to rush headlong into danger, though, so… I was wary of recruiting them." The man's frown reappeared on his face, his gaze distant. "Maybe if I had…."

He shook his head and refocused, lifting his mug to take another swallow. "In late 1979, Voldemort and a slew of Death Eaters stormed Diagon Alley, intent on killing everyone in sight. No one is sure why, but the Aurors were delayed. Your mother was trying to put up wards to block them, and Lupin was standing guard over her as your father and Sirius went on the offensive. Your father managed to hit Voldemort with a killing curse."

" _What_?"

Arthur shrugged. "Clearly, it didn't take," he said wryly. "I've had a team dedicated to trying to figure out  _why_  he didn't die for years. They haven't gotten very far." Getting to his feet, the man crossed to the ice chest and pulled out eggs and a rasher of bacon, lighting the stove with his wand. Harry jumped up and nudged the man aside, taking over – he'd had plenty of warnings from Mrs. Weasley and the Weasley children about their father's cooking.

Mr. Weasley held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning, though he pilfered a chunk of cheese as he stepped back. "I suspect," he continued, and Harry shot him a questioning glance, "that Bill has been working on much the same thing. The last several years, many of the sites he's worked have been rumored to hold artifacts linked to immortality."

"But why – " Harry swore under his breath, shaking out his hand as a bit of hot grease splashed out of the pan, hitting the side of his wrist. "Why would the goblins care about how Voldemort stayed alive?"

"That's a good question," Arthur agreed, sitting back down at the table. "It may be coincidence, or greed. Merlin knows, most of those artifacts are worth far more than their weight in gold. But somehow… I just don't feel like it's that simple."

Harry let out another tired sigh and glanced at the ceiling, his ears straining for any noise from the upper level. "Do you – do you know what happened to him?" he asked haltingly, frowning at Mr. Weasley.

A long silence grew between them, and Harry scowled to himself. Right. Of course, he wouldn't –

"Bill was supposed to be in Italy for six months, at least," Mr. Weasley began, and Harry hastily plated up bacon and eggs before turning to sit at the table again, his eyes fixed on the older man's face. "Instead, the day before your term ended, the job was abruptly cancelled. They'd been there only three weeks. Goblins have very –  _extreme_ ways of dealing with a breach of contract, but instead, from what I've been able to figure out, they helped Bill's team get out of the country. The ones who survived, at least."

Harry nodded. He already knew at least one person had died. Bill had told him as much, the night he and Fleur had woken Bill from a nightmare. The night Harry had first  _really_  seen the sparks coming from Bill's hands.

It sounded like that job had been  _much_  worse than Bill let on.

The Weasley patriarch picked up a slice of bacon and broke it in half, his eyes resting meaningfully on Harry's plate. Harry bit back a laugh. So  _that_  was where Bill had learned to use that unsubtle hint as a tactic. He shrugged, obediently picking up his fork and scooping up some eggs, and Mr. Weasley continued.

"At least two people died down there, including one of Bill's best friends, Jessica. I know now that Alexandria and Deacon have been in Peru, at least recently. Louis has been spotted hopping across the globe here and there, always alone, always in a hurry. No one has seen a trace of the others. But as for Bill," Mr. Weasley rubbed one hand across his forehead, closing his eyes tiredly, "he didn't tell his mother and me, or any of his siblings, for that matter, that he was coming back. I suppose he must have contacted Dora somehow, to get her to switch her guard shift, but otherwise… the first we learned that he was even in the country was when Albus contacted me in a panic, asking where he had taken you. Bill went straight to Privet Drive when he returned."

Harry stared blankly at his plate, his brow furrowed. "Dumbledore doesn't trust him," he said quietly, and Mr. Weasley shook his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is a brilliant man, but he is not always right," the Weasley patriarch said simply. "And besides, he doesn't trust whatever  _happened_  to Bill. There is a difference." The older man glanced up to the ceiling and frowned a moment before shaking his head.

"Do you?" Harry asked, his voice gone flat as he tried to hide his worry. Harry couldn't claim to know much about goblins, but his own interactions and five years in Binn's classes had taught him they weren't the warmest and fuzziest beings ever. For them to forgive a cancellation of a job, to basically smuggle Bill and his team out of the country, as Mr. Weasley suggested…

Harry had a very, very bad feeling. Overhead, a slight shuffling sounded.

"I believe in my son," the Weasley patriarch said quietly. "Whatever happened, if something has affected him or is controlling him somehow, I believe he will turn it to his advantage." The older man grinned at Harry suddenly, snatching up another piece of bacon. "Or yours, rather," he added. "I've never seen Bill so devoted to anything as he has devoted himself to you."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Do you think he's in danger?" he asked lowly.

Behind them, he heard the slow movement of footsteps on the stairs, and he spun in his seat as Fleur came into the room, Bill leaning slightly on her side. Jumping back to his feet, Harry crossed the room and reached out, shifting Bill so that his arm was thrown over Harry's shoulder. The cursebreaker scowled at him as Fleur smiled, kissing Harry on the cheek before moving across to the stovetop.

Harry settled the protesting Bill in a chair and stepped back, taking the plate that Fleur passed to him and setting it down in front of Bill with a  _thud_. As his guardian glared blearily at him, Harry glared back, then turned around and grabbed Bill a coffee as Mr. Weasley chuckled.

"I'm  _fine_ ," Bill ground out, his jaw clenched, and as Harry watched, Mr. Weasley looked at his eldest son's plate with a frown. Harry bit back a laugh as the cursebreaker scowled, rolled his eyes, and picked up his fork. It was nice to see someone  _else_  being managed, for a change.

"'e does seem to be eemproving," Fleur agreed, coming to sit at the table with them. "'e didn't fall when 'e got out of bed thees time."

Bill scowled. "So what's the update?" he asked tersely, eyes narrowed on his father.

Harry glance over at the Weasley patriarch, who had straightened somewhat in his chair, the exhausted air about him vanishing as soon as Bill came into the room. "We lost Moody, as you've already heard," he said slowly. "Ron and the others successfully cleared out all the prisoners, but… Bill, Charlie didn't want you to know until you were better, but he was hurt rather badly."

Harry and Bill both stared at the older man, Bill dropping his fork with a clatter. "How?" the cursebreaker demanded hoarsely, and Mr. Weasley winced.

"Greyback," Mr. Weasley replied shortly. "As I understand it, Sue Bones is the one that saved him."

"Will he – ?" Harry trailed off, shaking his head, and Mr. Weasley looked over at him sadly for a second.

"Apparently, Greyback used his claws, he didn't bite," the older man murmured. "He'll be monitored for the moon, but Pomfrey and Lupin don't think he'll turn. And he's alert and mobile."

Bill nodded absently, his eyes shadowed. Harry and Fleur locked eyes across the table, and Fleur let out a tired sigh before rising to her feet and grabbing the three men's coffee mugs, crossing the room and refilling them all as she started her espresso.

"We did learn something important," Mr. Weasley continued, eyes locked on Bill's face. "There was a Legacy Ward at Nott Castle."

Bill's eyes snapped up to meet his father's gaze, and Harry felt the heavy static in the air that built whenever Bill's strange electricity surged. A cold fury flashed through his guardian's eyes, and Bill seemed to forcibly calm himself, letting out a slow, steady breath before closing his eyes then quickly opening them. The static sensation vanished.

"I suppose that's how Greyback was able to get to Charlie?" he bit out. "They weren't all keyed in before they were ambushed?"

Mr. Weasley nodded, and Harry shot a questioning look at Fleur, who shrugged helplessly at him. "Only Sue Bones, Hannah Abbott, Moody and Minerva, aside from Ron," he explained.

Bill scowled. "I have a new job, I suppose," he said angrily, stabbing at his eggs.

"According to Theo Nott, those wards have been on his property as long as he could remember," Mr. Weasley frowned. "Voldemort has never been known to use them before, but we have to assume the senior Nott shared the secrets with him, and he will now." Gulping up another sip of coffee, he made a face, smiling at Fleur when she leaned over his shoulder and dumped a heap of sugar into the cup. "Do you know how to dismantle them?" he asked his eldest son, and Bill shoved his hands into his hair, dropping his head down.

"Not yet, but I'll figure it out," the cursebreaker said with another scowl.

"What's a Legacy Ward?" Harry asked impatiently, as it seemed neither of the Weasley men were going to explain.

Mr. Weasley shot a glance at Bill, but his son was ignoring them both, having pulled a sheet of parchment and a quill from out of nowhere. As Bill began to draw diagrams on the parchment, muttering to himself, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and turned to look at Harry. "They are ancient blood wards, son," he said quietly, his face twisted in disgust. "They block any but those keyed into the wards from performing the slightest bit of magic on the property."

Harry gaped at the man, then shook his head and jumped to his feet to cross to the ice chest and put away the leftovers as Fleur began to gather them up. "Why aren't  _we_  using that?" he asked as the part-Veela squeezed his shoulder and smiled.

"Because they are activated and maintained by blood," Mr. Weasley replied, "but not from the living, like the ones at Privet Drive."

The blood drained from Harry's face as he contemplated the idea.

"They require 5 liters of blood a week to maintain," the Weasley patriarch added. "Which means essentially, killing one person a week just for the purposes of the wards. Per property."

"Woefully inefficient," Bill muttered under his breath, still diagramming. "We'd run out of Death Eaters long before six months were up."

" _Beel_!" Fleur gasped, dropping the plate in her hands with a crash, and Harry stared at his guardian in horror. In the back of his mind, he heard Bill's voice from the day they spoke about Brand; ' _He's not our friend, Harry, he's the enemy_.'

Bill looked up at his fiancé steadily, his face a blank mask. The part-Veela gazed back at him, shock all over her striking features.

"Not to mention, it's morally abhorrent," Mr. Weasley said in a falsely casual tone, his eyes fixed on Bill's face. The cursebreaker didn't look away from Fleur, his mouth set in a thin line.

"That too," Bill said simply, then turned back to his diagramming.

Harry looked back and forth between the other three, his mind racing.

"I  _was_  going to go through the things we took from Malfoy's place," his guardian muttered, "but this is far more important to figure out."

"Don't you think it's time to call in the rest of your team, Bill?" his father asked. "There's certainly plenty they could be doing."

"Alex already did."

The tension in the room was giving Harry a headache. Clearing his throat, he looked over at Bill and gave the cursebreaker a lopsided smile. "I need to check on Ron, Hermione, and Nev," he said quickly. "And Ginny was asking for my help with something, I just didn't want to – "

Bill looked up from his diagramming, smiling at Harry easily. "I'm fine, kid, I promise."

Harry bit his lip, nodding, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fleur and Mr. Weasley exchange a worried glance.

"Actually, my dear," Mr. Weasley spoke up, turning to Fleur. "I need to meet Remus for something, and we could use a friendly face, if you're willing to tag along? I'll explain when we get there."

" _Oui_ ," Fleur nodded, setting down her espresso and crossing the table to kiss Bill on the cheek. Without another word, the Frenchwoman swept out of the room and up the stairs to change, and Harry cleared his throat, turning back to Bill.

"Right, then," he said anxiously, looking the older man over. "If you're sure – "

"Harry,  _go_  ahead," the cursebreaker said simply. "Let Charlie know I'll be by later and say hi to Ron and Gin for me."

Harry nodded, glanced over at Mr. Weasley, and left the room. As he stepped into the hearth, he heard Mr. Weasley's voice softly in the other room.

"Bill, we need to talk."

 _Yes, Bill_ , Harry thought to himself,  _yes, we do._

 

* * *

 

_Gringotts_

_The remains of Diagon Alley_

_London_

 

Bill moved slowly as he climbed the stairs to the bank, his wand held tightly at his side and his eyes narrowed as he scanned his surroundings. The slight haze over his vision made every shadow seem deeper, every stir of the breeze seem to be a thing moving, and he loathed his paranoia. He tapped his wand on the door handle and the gleaming bronze glowed red hot, then flashed with a white light before the handle turned of its own accord, the door swinging open. With a shaky breath, he slipped through the doors and set his face in a careful mask before striding into the bank.

He crossed the empty lobby quickly. Bogrod was sitting behind the counter, his eyes fixed on Bill, but the usually social banker stayed at his station. No one stopped him – Bill had risen quickly through the ranks at Gringotts over the years, and as the highest-placed human employee, he was able to come and go as he pleased. Pushing through a heavy door on the far left, he disappeared down a winding corridor and came out in a tunnel, standing just feet away from the edge of a bottomless ravine.

He looked down over the abyss, his eyes shadowed, as the sensation in his veins rose. A sudden pull moved him closer to the edge, and he heard his heart pounding in his ears as an angry whisper echoed through the air around him.

_You can't steal this secret._

With a shaky hand, he shoved his hair back from his face, scowling, and turned on his heel.

It took over fifteen minutes of traipsing through the tunnels, but finally, he stood before the heavy stone door. He raised his hand to knock and it swung in before his knuckles even touched the surface, Ragnok gazing up at him worriedly.

"In, quickly, quickly!" the goblin hissed, peering down the tunnel past Bill, and he reached out a gnarled hand and grabbed Bill's wrist, yanking him into the cavernous room.

The door slammed shut behind him and Ragnok let him go with a grunt, turning and disappearing into the darkness. Bill followed, rubbing absently at his now-sore wrist, his eyes narrowed for anything moving in the shadows.

He trusted the goblins in general, but rather like wizards and Muggles, any group had a few bad apples.

Another door swung open before them and Bill followed the goblin into a smaller room, the space brightly lit from every direction. In the center was a low hospital bed, a rolling cart covered with potions and sharp instruments beside it. He scowled lightly, stepping forward and sitting on the bed as another, slightly taller goblin entered the room. With a shaking hand, he slipped his jacket off and folded it carefully in his lap.

Bodrig gave him a sharp-toothed smile as he crossed over to the wizard, eyes narrowed on Bill's face. "It happened quicker this time, didn't it?" the goblin asked sharply, and Bill sighed and nodded. The goblin reached out and wrapped one clawed hand around Bill's arm, snatching up a syringe from the tray beside them. Bill let out a hissed breath between his teeth but made no move to stop the goblin as he plunged the syringe into Bill's bicep. A terrible icy feeling spread through his veins, and Bill closed his eyes, clenching his teeth as the ice spread. Frost sprang up on his arms as he sat there, perfectly still. After a moment, he let out a sigh of relief. The freezing sensation had vanished, and the biting pain of the electricity in his veins dulled.

"It's only going to get worse," the goblin said quietly as he moved around Bill, picking up a small jar from the beside table. He opened the jar and handed it to Bill, who grunted absently and scooped out a pinch of the pungent cream, rubbing the remedy into his hands slowly.

"Abernathy and Rothschild seem to have found some promising leads," Bodrig continued, and Bill shot him a sharp glance.

"Leave it," he said shortly, and the goblin scowled at him.

"Might I remind you who holds your contract?" the goblin medic replied, eyes narrowed. "Your talents are worth quite a lot to us alive, Bill, and you are well-liked. But your value diminishes considerably if you die."

Bill snorted, shaking his head with a wry grin. He shook out his hands as the potion began to spread into them, slowly easing the burn inside his skin. "I can use this. And it's necessary. You know it is," he insisted as the goblin began to shake his head.

"None of this is necessary," Bodrig muttered darkly. Gathering up a handful of potions, he settled them carefully into a carrying case before looking back up at Bill. "For what it's worth," the goblin began slowly, "I'm sorry for my part in sending you there. Jessica Picquery was a singular witch, and her loss is…"

"Enough," Bill cut in, shaking his head. The cursebreaker pressed his lips together in a thin line, gazing straight ahead as the goblin watched him warily.

"I would take this burden from you if I could, child," the elderly goblin said quietly. Shaking his head again, the goblin stepped back, and Bill got carefully to his feet. The stiffness in his muscles was already fading, and he felt his mind sharpening again, his blurred vision clearing. With a tap of his wand, the carrying case shrank, and Bill stowed the tiny case in the pocket of his jacket.

"The others have gathered in the primary launch room," Ragnok spoke up suddenly, and Bill shot him a look.

"Lex and Deacon?"

"Heading in now," a voice confirmed from the doorway, and Bill turned slightly to see Louis standing in the entrance, frowning at him. A scowl shot across Bodrig's face and Bill glanced at him sharply. The goblins shouldn't have allowed him to choose his own team if they weren't willing to coexist with them. Lou was a pain in the ass sometimes, but the man was  _good_.

"Right," Bill muttered, shrugging his leather jacket back on. "Let's get to it, then." The other wizard turned and left the room, and Bill strode across to leave the chamber. At the doorway, he paused, looking back at the two silent goblins.

"Thank you," he murmured quietly, breaking protocol.

Bodrig snorted. "Thank us by staying alive, wizard," the goblin growled, and Bill left the room without another word.

He wasn't looking forward to the coming conversation, any more than the one with Charlie later that afternoon, or with his father that evening.

 _Merlin_ , did he miss the days of simple treasure-hunting.

 

* * *

 

_Dorset, Shire County_

_England_

 

"I can't believe we forgot about them," Lupin muttered angrily. "The second we began to suspect, they should have been the  _first_  we checked on."

Tonks nodded lightly, frowning as she gazed up at the small townhouse. Beside her, Fleur bit back a retort. The place certainly  _looked_  empty, nothing in the windows, no lights on. There was no car in the driveway, and the paper that lay on the stoop was days old, drenched through from the recent storms.

"Kingsley did the normal check just two weeks ago," Arthur pointed out quietly.

"But they are clearly  _not_  here," Lupin ground out between clenched teeth, his eyes flashing.

Fleur said nothing. Her eyes were scanning slowly over the area, taking in every detail. She'd seen Hermione's prior home. Her mother had kept a huge plot of prized rosebushes out front. Everything was artfully arranged, a gradual deepening of colors and shift of patterns. The entire space was immaculate.

Yet at their safehouse, the gardens were in desperate need of weeding.

She shrugged, tossing her hair back over her shoulder as the door to the neighboring townhome opened. An old man shuffled out onto the stoop, glaring at them balefully, and Fleur smiled softly. It might be nothing – but it would be easy enough to find out. After all, wasn't that why Mr. Weasley had brought her along?

As the others stiffened behind her, she crossed the yard quickly with a brilliant smile, reaching the man and putting a hand lightly on his arm. With firm concentration, she turned up her 'persuasive charms,' as Bill called her Veela powers, and slowly the elderly man softened, gazing at her with a besotted smile.

"I am looking for my freends," she said softly as the man stared adoringly at her. "Wendell and Monica Wilkins. 'ave you seen zem?"

The stooped-over man smiled brightly at her, shaking his head. "They packed up some two weeks ago," he replied. "Said something about an emergency back home with their daughter. Haven't seen 'em since."

Fleur frowned, her concentration slipping slightly, and the man swayed towards her. With a shake of her head, she stepped back, pulling her blocks back up, and slowly, the man's suspicious glare returned. She smiled at him gently and turned away, heading back across the yard to the others.

If the looks on their faces were any indication, they had heard just fine. Fleur looked at her future father-in-law with a solemn gaze, then turned to look at Tonks, who was staring at the abandoned house, her eyes filling with tears.

"Must have moved them right after Kingsley's check-in," Mr. Weasley muttered, and Tonks shook her head, pulling her arm away as Lupin reached out to her. Fleur moved to the older woman's side, wrapping an arm around her back as her hair turned to a striking black, her eyes going perfectly white.

"How am I supposed to tell her?" the metamorphmagus whispered.

 

* * *

 

_Room of Requirement_

_Hogwarts_

 

Ginny let out a squeak and flung herself across the room, slamming into Harry and knocking them both into the wall. The Potter heir huffed out a disgruntled laugh, wrapping his arms around her shaking frame and tucking her head into his shoulder.

"We're all okay, Gin," he said quietly, and Ginny felt a stab of sorrow run through her.

"Not  _all_  of us," she whispered, angry tears welling in her eyes. Her friend stiffened, nodding slightly, then pulled back, gently shoving her back from him to look her over.

"I've just been to check on Charlie," Harry told her. "He seems to be on the mend."

"Again," Ginny scowled. Charlie had been hurt one time too many that summer for her comfort. "And Bill?"

Harry shrugged as he moved away from the wall. "Up and about," he said tersely. "He seems… rather on edge. His temper is high."

"Isn't it always?" Neville asked from where he sat on a low couch, flipping through a huge, dusty tome.

Ginny glanced at Harry and bit her lip, the raven-haired wizard shaking his head.

"No," Ginny said softly. "That's… new."

Luna hummed to herself as she picked up the  _Quibbler_. "He's just trying to eliminate all the Nargles from the world," the Ravenclaw said simply. "That would make anyone stressed."

A strange tension was emanating from the wizard on her right, and Ginny glanced over to see Harry gazing at Luna seriously.

"Luna," he began, "do you know what's – ?"

The airy girl hummed to herself, turning a page in her upside-down magazine, and as Harry opened his mouth to speak again, the door behind them slammed open.

"Right, then," Ginny said sharply, clearing her throat as Viktor, Sue, Hannah, Seamus, and Dean stepped into the room, Fred and George bringing up the rear of the group. "We have work to do."

 

* * *

 

_Defense Professor's Quarters_

_Hogwarts_

 

Hermione frowned lightly as Kingsley steered her through the corridors, her arm linked through his. She was certain the man had no intentions of being an irritant, but she had so much  _work_  to do, and she was so tired that she just….

She shook her head, stopping in her tracks and biting her lip, and the burly Auror turned professor turned around, looking at her sternly.

"Hermione," he said in his usual quiet rumble, "this is important."

"What's going on?" she asked again, but the older man only shook his head. Reaching out, he took hold of her arm again and led her the rest of the way towards his quarters.

"We just need to talk to you," Kingsley murmured, and as the door swung open, Hermione stepped through to meet the serious gazes of Mr. Weasley and Professor Lupin. The two men were seated in matching leather armchairs by the fire, with Tonks and Fleur sitting a short distance from them on a small couch, the metamorph wringing her hands. The Frenchwoman looked up at Hermione and smiled tightly, gesturing to the place beside her. Tonks was looking steadily into the fire, her eyes red-rimmed.

Hermione turned around and stared at Kingsley, her eyes narrowed, as the man spelled his chamber door shut.

" _What_  is going on?" she demanded again, and Kingsley looked away, crossing the room to sit on the couch opposite Fleur. Hermione hesitated a moment, glaring balefully at him, before walking over and sitting down between Fleur and her silent guardian, looking expectantly at the other two men.

Professor Lupin shot a look at Kingsley before glancing at Mr. Weasley, who nodded once and scowled. Turning to face Hermione, her former professor rubbed a hand tiredly across his face then muttered, "Hermione, we need to talk to you about Severus Snape."

 _Get out of there_ , the dark voice in the back of her mind whispered, and Hermione felt a flash of dread. She leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, her mind racing through every memory of the last several weeks, every moment the voice had spoken up and told her to do something, or to avoid someone. Always trying to steer her away from any man, especially the Weasleys and Harry. Fighting to keep her apart, to make her continue to keep secrets.

She'd thought it was just her own nerves, her own instincts… until the other night in Bill's workshop, when she had felt genuine fear of the man who had only tried to protect them. When she'd truly thought he was going to attack her. That was when she had known something must be wrong.

She opened her eyes, met Mr. Weasley's somber gaze.

"What did he do?" she asked, her voice shaking, as the voice in the back of her mind began to grow angry.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere in Scotland_

 

"I must confessss," the Dark Lord hissed. "I am surprised at you, Severusss."

Snape looked at the Dark Lord steadily, his gaze calm and focused. He waited patiently, ignoring the sharp pains in his knees from the cold, unforgiving stone floors.

"I had thought you had rather grown sssoft after spending ssso much time with Dumbledore."

Snape allowed himself a smirk as the gathered Death Eaters chuckled around them. "I had to be cautious, My Lord," he said simply. "But I admit the temptation grew too much to resist."

"And now, they have banished you," Voldemort hissed, a delighted smile twisting his reptilian features. The Dark Lord's red eyes flashed in the darkness, and Snape let a small smile form on his face. "No matter. Your talents are best served here now. I have plenty of little spies in the castle, and more need of your potions skills than anything else you can offer."

"What would you have me do, My Lord?" Snape murmured, and the Dark Lord gazed down at him with an almost fond smile. Inwardly, beneath the frozen pond that guarded his mind, Snape felt a flash of victory.

The Dark Lord gestured imperiously, and Snape stood carefully, his gaze steady on his master. "Time enough for that later," the Dark Lord said simply. "For now, what do you desire as a gift for your dedicated service?"

"Hermione Granger."

A murmur broke out among the Death Eaters around them, and Snape could feel Dolohov's heated glare burning into the back of his skull. To Voldemort's left, Malfoy was eyeing Snape worriedly. The blond aristocrat shook his head ever so slightly, and Snape ignored him, his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord.

Voldemort was staring back at him, his eyes narrowed, and he brushed one hand across the back of Nagini's skull as he looked at the Potions Master. "This seems an awfully familiar conversation," the Dark Lord whispered, the exaggerated hissing gone, his eyes narrowed angrily. "Have you finally replaced the  _charming_  Lily Potter?"

Severus looked the Dark Lord straight in the eyes, lowering a section of his shields. "I do not ask that you spare her, My Lord," he said smoothly, a smile twisting his lips.

Voldemort simply looked at him steadily, waiting.

"I ask that you give her to me."

 

* * *

 

_Moody's Hideout_

_Unst, Shetland Islands_

_Scotland_

 

Ron stepped through the wards with a scowl, his eyes narrowed as he gazed around the property. He'd cast every spell that he could think of – every detection that Moody, his father, and Bill had taught him, everything he'd gleaned from Hermione – and as far as he could tell, the place was deserted. But a Fidelius always fell when the Secret Keeper died, and Moody –

His thoughts trailed off as he shook his head roughly. He wasn't going to think about it.

By the time they'd managed to get a team back to Nott Castle, the place had been cleared out. There was no way of knowing if Bellatrix Lestrange had walked away, or if the Death Eaters had removed her body. If she were still alive – he didn't give a fuck about Tonks' crusade for justice. Dora would just have to get to the bitch  _first_ , if she wanted a crack at her.

The letter was clenched in his left hand as he gazed around the field at the lopsided picnic table, the still-standing obstacle course, the small pond in the background. He swallowed harshly against the sudden lump in his throat and headed to the little cottage, his steps even and careful.

The door opened without any resistance, and Ron stepped carefully into the room, his wand still held at the ready. Silence met him, and he stood there a moment, waiting, but nothing moved. He was sure Moody wouldn't have allowed any creature – a Boggart or otherwise – to get into the property, but then, he'd been gone for a couple days at that point and…

Ron scowled again, shutting the cottage door gently behind himself. With a few quick waves of his wand, he set defensive wards around the cottage, then stowed his wand in his holster.

He crossed the empty room and headed down the hall to the library, turning immediately right and pressing his hand on the carved-out Phoenix near the door. With a  _click_ , the Phoenix slid forward, and the wall rumbled, sliding away to reveal an entire hidden cabinet behind the panel.

"Right," Ron muttered to himself. "Moody wasn't kidding." Setting the letter quickly down on the table behind himself, he stepped forward and gazed at the contents of the cabinet.

There were four shelves, each of them at least four feet across in length, two feet deep. On the shelves sat dozens on little phials filled with shimmering silver threads, a small Pensieve resting in the center. The upper shelves held countless weapons – swords, daggers, a couple throwing stars – along with a small bundle of ancient-looking books.

In the very front, up against the Pensieve, rested a small phial. A tiny roll of parchment was fastened to the top. Ron reached out slowly and unwound the parchment, swallowing again as he took his mentor's spiky handwriting.

_Son,_

_If you're reading this, I didn't make it. Hopefully, I took some of those fuckers with me._

_The memories in these phials are from Auror training classes. You may see more than a couple familiar faces. Use them to continue your training, and to train your little army. I have no doubt the war is nowhere near over, and you'll need every advantage you can get. Which brings me to my next point._

_I was the only one left, so the Moody line is now finished. I've never had a kid, never wanted one, so my house and all my possessions had nowhere to go. Until now._

_Earlier this summer, I changed my will. It's yours, boy. You have my house to take care of now, and my car – and you'd best take care of that car, boy, if you know what's good for you. Bill can help you sort out the vaults with the goblins. Be brave, and be careful, boy, and remember – don't dwell on the darkness._

_I'm proud of you, Ron._

_-Alastor_

In the empty room, Ron set down the parchment with a shaking hand. He reached behind himself blindly and pulled out a chair, sitting down heavily. With a sharp gasp, he dropped his head into his hands and stared at the tabletop through burning eyes.

Across the room, a small dagger shone in the cabinet, the jewel growing brighter and brighter.

 

* * *

 

~*~ALIBI


	15. But Iron Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize in advance to anyone named Hugo. I'm sure you are awesome and your parents had nothing but good intentions. As for the R/Hr pairing… Ron and Hermione can be cute. They can be absolutely precious together. Ron and Hermione, having grown as they have so far in this story, are not suited for each other, and they know it. You'll see. (aaaabatteries, I swear this was written before your review!)
> 
> Also, Katherine M, like I said… about that. Muahaha.

 

_The Black Lake_

_Hogwarts_

_September 7, 1996_

 

"I can't believe we haven't found anything yet," Ginny muttered darkly, glaring out over the churning waters beneath them. She sat on the edge of the bridge, feet swinging over the side, and rested her forehead against the rail. It was freezing already, a good five degrees cooler than normal for the time of year at least, and she watched her breath crystallize in the air.

Somehow, she had a feeling that this was the new 'normal.' She bit her lip, swallowing as another spike of fever hit. A red haze crept in from the corners of her eyes, and she shook her head wildly.

Pomfrey and Dumbledore hadn't found any sign she was in any way being controlled or affected. Krum –  _Viktor_ , she thought angrily,  _he said to call him Viktor_  – had yet to determine what was in the potion from the samples she'd given him. They all seemed to think she was miraculously unharmed.

She knew better.

Luna peered down at her, her long blonde hair swinging as she lay above her and to the right. The Ravenclaw girl was balancing on the rail like she was one of those Muggle gymnasts Hermione used to talk about, in the silly bodysuits from the classes her mum had forced on her when she was four years old.

Although, Ginny thought with a slight grin, the sight of a tiny, indignant toddler Hermione in a bodysuit and a tutu was rather endearing.

Lying on her stomach, Luna had her elbows propped up and her chin resting on her fists. The girl giggled as a sudden spray of lake water flew up and splashed them, leaning forward and drawing symbols on the rail in the small puddles.

"Maybe there isn't anything else to find," Luna said quietly, biting her lip as she leaned over the side slightly, trying to reach who-even-knew-what. "Maybe all he was talking about was the books in Slytherin's chambers. He wouldn't know we found them, after all."

"I wish you would  _get down_  from there," Ginny muttered darkly, eying Luna's precarious position. Luna just smiled. "And that doesn't make any  _sense_ ," she continued, shaking her head. "Harry said there was a tunnel from the Forest down there, too. Why would he need the school cleared out for that, if he could just walk right in through a secret passageway?"

Luna shrugged easily, biting her lip as she continued to trace on the rail. "I think," she began. Ginny glanced up at her when the Ravenclaw girl fell silent. Luna was completely still on the rail, her eyes unfocused and staring straight ahead. A sudden crash of waves beneath them sent a jet of freezing lake water shooting towards them both, and some of it splashed on Luna's face.

The girl didn't blink.

"Luna," Ginny said shakily as her heart began to thud in her ears. That terrible chill crept back up her spine, and she shoved backwards, pushing to her feet. "Luna, get down from – "

She reached towards Luna, intending to drag her down from the rail and tear into her over her recklessness –

The Ravenclaw pitched suddenly to the side, disappearing over the edge of the bridge in a flurry of billowing blue robes.

 _Please be here, please be here_ , Ginny thought frantically as she raised her wand. With a shaking hand, she tore her robes off and dropped them at her feet, then grabbed the rail and climbed up to stand on the edge. As she stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the small hurtling bullet that was Luna, she screamed " _Accio Harry's Firebolt_!"

And she jumped.

Somehow, freefalling was terrifying in a way that flying was decidedly  _not_. The air was rushing past her, freezing and biting, stinging at her eyes and making tears fall. It felt as though her skin were being scrubbed raw by sandpaper, her hair was going to tear clean off her head…

And she wasn't going to reach her in time. Even with ditching the robes, Luna had started falling too far ahead and the girl was only about two hundred feet from the surface of the lake, her face unnaturally still.

 _Luna_ , she thought miserably,  _Luna, I'm sorry_.

A sudden rushing sound cut through the air, and Ginny squeaked as a bundle of twigs appeared next to her. She grabbed onto the tail of the broom with a hiss, yanking it under herself as she continued to fall. Tumbling twice before she was able to right herself, she bent as low as she could over the broom and narrowed her eyes on Luna.

She could make it… fifty feet… twenty… Gritting her teeth, she urged the broom forward and skidded to a halt, reaching out her arms. She wrapped both her hands around her friend's shoulders and  _pulled_ , grunting slightly when the momentum shoved them down further towards the lake. The broom bucked beneath her as she almost fell backwards, and Ginny ground her teeth even more, banding her arms around Luna. Her friend wasn't moving, her head lolling back to rest on Ginny's shoulder.

Her throat was burning as she finally managed to stop the broom, the tips of her toes brushing the surface of the lake. Tightening her grip on her friend, she angled the broom towards the shore and sped towards the closest reach of land, nearest to Hagrid's cabin.

She couldn't hear herself think, so loudly was her heart pounding in her ears. Ginny's hands shook as she dismounted the broom, pulling Luna with her. Her friend went limp again and fell to her knees, and Ginny hurriedly straightened the girl into an upright position, then lay her back on the sand. "Luna," she croaked, her throat raw, tears still stinging the corners of her eyes. Behind her, she heard heavy footfalls on the ground. "Luna, wake  _up_!"

"Ginny!" Hagrid's voice thundered behind them, and Ginny ignored him, wrapping her hands around her friend's shoulders and shaking her roughly. Luna was staring blankly ahead, not moving, not even blinking. Ginny's eyes fell to her friend's chest – no rise and fall, she wasn't  _breathing_.

" _Ennervate!_ " she hissed, pointing her wand at her friend. " _Ennervate!"_

"Ginny," Hagrid said worriedly, his huge shadow falling over her as he stood behind her. "What happened?"

"Wake  _up_!" she screamed, leaning straight over Luna and shouting in the other girl's face. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks now, and a constant stream of  _no no no no no_  was echoing through her mind.

A sudden gasp sounded, and Ginny let out a cry of relief as Luna swallowed harshly, her eyes darting back and forth as she tried to regain her bearings. She hunched over, her head falling on Luna's shoulder, and let out a shaky breath as she struggled to stop crying.

"Luna," she whispered, and her friend made a funny noise in her throat, "what  _happened_?"

She felt her friend shaking her head even as Hagrid strode off – for help, she was sure – and Ginny leaned back, her eyes on Luna's face.

"What happened," she asked again softly.

"They are missing," Luna sobbed, and Ginny's blood froze. "I can't find them, I can't – "

"Who?  _Who_ , Luna?"

The Ravenclaw girl raised her shaking hands to her face and began to scratch at her eyes, as though it would stop whatever she was seeing. Ginny swore angrily, leaning forward and catching both of the girl's hands in one of hers. " _WHO_?" she asked again, moving so she was pinning Luna down as the girl tried to pull her hands free.

Luna froze suddenly, eyes fixed on Ginny's face. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and the blonde girl swallowed then whispered, "Everyone."

 _Fuck_!

Ginny grabbed at the pendant around her neck and activated it, immediately snarling through the open connection  _Everyone, check in, NOW_. With a jab of her wand in the direction of the bridge, she summoned her robes and dug the DA coin out of her pocket, sending the same message.

 _Ron and I are at Moody's cabin. Is everything alright?_  Hermione's voice echoed a moment later, and Luna closed her eyes.

 _Harry and I are at St Kilna with Bill, Shacklebolt, Lupin and Tonks, plus some of Bill's team,_ Neville replied, and Ginny sagged with relief, scooting over so she was lying on the sand next to Luna. Reaching out, she ran her fingers through a knot of tangled hair and smiled sadly at her friend.

"Luna," she said carefully. "I need you to tell me what happened."

Luna met her eyes, biting her lip, and tears welled up again in the Ravenclaw's eyes. The girl tilted her head back and gazed at the Astronomy tower, looming over them.

"Everything falls," Luna whispered. "It's all gone."

The sound of people running cut through their eerie bubble of quiet, and Ginny allowed Seamus to lead her toward the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid following behind with Luna floating on a stretcher behind them.

As they crossed into castle, Ginny tipped her head back and stared up at the Astronomy tower.

 _Everything falls_ , Luna's voice echoed in her mind.

 

* * *

 

_Moody's Hideout_

_Unst, Shetland Islands_

_Scotland_

 

Hermione let out a weary sigh as she dropped the pendant and stepped back. Ginny had insisted they didn't need to return, that everything was fine, but she couldn't shake the feeling of dread. Ginny was an emotional girl, that was true, but not one prone to unfounded panic.

And Ginny had sounded utterly frantic.

 _The girl's inane panic is hardly your concern,_  the Snape-voice sounded in the back of her mind, barely a whisper, and Hermione swallowed as she felt a chill run through her.

 _You can stop that any time now,_  she thought, as scathingly as she could manage.  _I know it's you_.

A dark chuckle echoed in her ears, and Hermione struggled to raise her Occlumency shields.

She had never hated before, but she did now.

It had taken Dumbledore sitting down and using Legilimency on her before they came to any kind of conclusion. They had spent hours locked in his office, Tonks, Kingsley, Lupin, and Bill and Mr. Weasley sitting in a ring around them the whole time with Bill watching the Headmaster with narrowed eyes. The fact that they had even figured out something was wrong seemed to rather confirm her suspicion that Bill had been reading her mind in his workshop days before, and although she was grateful, she carefully avoided his eyes.

It was strange, but the cursebreaker seemed almost pleased that she was acting that way.

Hermione was certain she'd seen Dumbledore age at least twenty years when he confirmed their suspicions, that Snape had done something to her mind. With a tired sigh, rubbing a shaking, gnarled hand across his eyes, the Headmaster murmured that it seemed to be a variant of the Imperius – Snape could not actually hear her, could not see through her eyes or talk to her. But he had left behind an imprint, a shadow on her subconscious, and it could influence her thoughts and actions if she didn't keep on her guard. Occlumency wouldn't make it go away, he'd explained, but it could help her to focus her will.

"I'm sorry, child," Dumbledore had whispered to her, his eyes filling up with tears. "It seems I've failed you both."

Sitting beside her, Tonks had squeezed her hand.

"I think maybe it is time to secure our properties and operations against Snape," Kingsley had said quickly, his face shadowed where he sat over by the fire. Hermione glanced at the burly Auror curiously – his voice had been trembling, just the slightest bit. Her gaze fell to his hands and she frowned – he had balled them into fists at his sides.

"He could have read her mind," Dumbledore argued. "He could have gleaned every Order secret she holds and taken it straight to Voldemort, and I saw no trace of an intrusion of that sort. Surely that means – "

It was Mr. Weasley who had cut him off, sighing sadly. "Albus, it's time to face the facts," the Weasley patriarch said gently. "You tried, but ultimately, you cannot save someone who does not want to be saved. He's made his choice, more than once."

"And now, we have to make ours," Bill said simply, his face twisted in a scowl. Hermione shot him a worried look and he smiled at her calmly.

 _Stay away_ , the voice had echoed in her mind when Bill looked back at her, and Dumbledore jerked back, staring at Hermione.

Which, Hermione thought angrily, had answered the question of whether the Headmaster had lingered in her thoughts himself.

It hadn't been long after that when the Headmaster conceded to the others, agreeing to a capture order for Severus Snape. The look that passed between Tonks, Kingsley, and Bill had her slightly worried about whether that order would be followed, but Hermione was too exhausted to worry about that.

Amazingly enough, Viktor, having proven his competency to Dumbledore in looking into Ginny's potion, had been offered and had accepted the Potions Master position at the school. He had been briefed on her illness and was taking over her treatments with Poppy. A dark look had crossed his face when her heard what had happened to her, and the ex-Quidditch star had slammed out of the room, disappearing down into the Potions labs. Hermione had gone to check on him only once and found herself politely nudged from the room before she had a chance to look at the eight cauldrons he had running, the dozens of books scattered around.

The looks Viktor had shot her, as though she were made of spun glass, had succeeded in hurting her far worse than anything that had been done to her thus far.

Hermione Granger, she thought angrily, was not  _anyone's_  damsel.

 _Then why is it that you require so much rescuing_? the Snape-voice said smoothly, and Hermione scowled, shaking her head to clear it. She just wasn't  _good_  at Occlumency yet, she'd only just started studying and –

"Hermione," a voice cut through her reverie, and her eyes snapped up to meet Ron's gaze. The youngest Weasley son was looking at her patiently, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

"Sorry," she said, clearing her throat, and she raised one shaking hand to brush the hair back from her face. "I – sorry, were you saying something?"

Ron shot her a grin and shook his head. "Nah," he said lightly, though Hermione was certain he  _had_  said something to her. "Just I've finished this section and I was wondering if you were ready to break for lunch?"

Hermione grinned back at him. As crazy as their world was becoming, it was nice to have something – predictable. Steady. Ron would  _always_  be dependable.

"Ron?" she asked suddenly. "Do you ever wish we were in love with each other?"

Her best friend gaped at her, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Merlin, no!" Ron burst out, then a look of dread came over his face. His ears went red at the tips, his face white, and he shook his head harshly. "I mean – I – bloody hell Mione, you're amazing. I didn't mean – "

Hermione had gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth the second he started to speak. Her shoulders shaking, she bit her lip and turned away.

"Mione, I'm sor – wait a second." Ron stepped forward, wrapping one hand around her shoulder, and swung her around to face him. He bent over and peered at her face, and Hermione squeaked, tightening her hands on her face. "You little – you were  _laughing_!" he exclaimed, a grin stretching across his face. "How  _could_  you?"

Hermione pulled her hands free and spun out of his grip, laughing even harder, before she spun back and grinned at him. "You should have seen your face," she gasped. "What did you think I was going to do, curse you?"

"Welllll…." Ron said slowly, shrugging, but his eyes sparkled. Crossing over to the huge couch along the far wall, he sat down and stretched out his legs. "What brought this on?"

 _Having an evil psychopath in my head twenty-four seven,_  she thought darkly. "I don't know," she shrugged, frowning. "I just wish sometimes, that's all. You're brilliant and brave and funny and fun to be around, and sometimes I wish I felt that way about you."

"Life would be a lot simpler," Ron agreed, frowning. He raised his arm and Hermione quickly moved over to sit beside him, burrowing into his side. The burn started on her skin and she bit her lip, stubbornly staying in place. "You're a genius, and you're bloody loyal and wonderful but I just don't…"

"I know," Hermione said gently, before Ron could worry about her feelings again, "that's why I said sometimes I  _wish_ , not sometimes I  _feel_."

Ron snorted. "Can you picture it?" he asked, shaking his head. "Sunday dinners at the Burrow, everyone crowded in. You're glaring at me because I forgot to take out the trash,  _again_ , and I'm not speaking to you because you told on me for cheating on my driving test."

"And Hugo and Rose are upset, because we fight every single day. They don't understand that that's just how we communicate."

She felt Ron's arm shift behind her head and turned slightly to see him staring down at her. " _Hugo_?" he exclaimed. "You would name our son  _Hugo_?" Shaking his head, the tall redhead pulled his arm free from behind her, sending her toppling over with an indignant yell. "That's it, Hermione, I'm sorry. That's just right cruel, that is. I'm going to have to break up with you now."

"Oh, ho," Hermione shot back, glaring at him. "That is  _not_  how that would go. I would break up with  _you_."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, probably," he agreed, grinning widely. He leaned back on the couch and settled his arm across her shoulders again. They fell into a companionable silence for a time, then Ron squeezed his arm around her shoulders, sighing tiredly. "Are you gonna tell me what you and Harry are up to yet?"

"What?"

"You know, whatever has you sneaking off all the time," Ron said easily. He grinned mischievously as Hermione gaped at him. "I mean, if you're a couple now, cor, Hermione, just tell me. We can work out a signal for when you two want to – "

"Ron!"

"Well, we could."

Hermione huffed out a laugh. "You  _must_  be joking," she said waspishly. "He's  _Harry_."

"Hey," Ron shot back indignantly, "Harry's a  _great_  bloke!"

"I never said he – " Hermione trailed off, flushing, as she saw a slow smile spread across Ron's face. "Prat," she muttered darkly, shoving at his shoulder. "Honestly, how anyone thinks the  _twins_  are the most incorrigible of you lot…"

"I had to defend my mate's honor," Ron said simply, chuckling, and Hermione snorted. "Seriously, Hermione," he continued, and she turned her head to look at him. "I don't like you two keeping secrets from me. It just makes me worry about you both."

"Oh, so you don't keep any secrets from us?" Hermione retorted immediately, and Ron smiled at her sadly.

"No."

She froze, her reply dying on her lips, and looked at him searchingly. Ron just looked back at her, waiting.

"We're trying to find a way to block the memories," she whispered finally.

"What?" Ron sat forward with his eyes fixed on her face. In the corner, the fireplace crackled, and Hermione swallowed nervously. "What do you mean?"

"The memories, from the brains that attacked you," she said. "We're working on a way to – "

"No," Ron said shortly. He got to his feet, his face carefully blank.

"What do you mean  _no_?"

"It means no," Ron replied simply. He turned away, staring at the fireplace. "I'm not getting rid of the memories. They're helpful."

"Ron, they're  _hurting_  you!" Hermione snapped, tears gathering in her eyes, and Ron spun around, glaring at her.

"Oh, and I'm the only one who is hurting, am I?" he asked angrily. "Do you think I don't  _see_  you, Hermione? Every.  _Day_."

Hermione froze, and Ron let out a weary sigh.

"Harry – Harry is more than a brother," he said in a quiet voice. "It's awful to admit it, but it's true. I care more about him than I do Fred and George, Bill and Charlie –  _not_  Ginny," he said with a rueful smile. "Nobody is ever taking Harry's place."

He stepped forward, his eyes on her face. "But you, Hermione," he said shakily. "You and me, we've been through the same struggles, carried the same burdens. Nobody else can understand, but  _you_  can." Swallowing, he shook his head. "You're my best friend, Hermione Granger."

 _How touching_ , the Snape-voice sneered as Hermione stared at Ron.

"I know there's something wrong," Ron continued, "and I know it's bad. And I get that you don't want to worry everyone. But if you tell  _anyone_ …" He swallowed again. "If you tell anyone the truth, Hermione,  _tell me_."

Tears fell freely from her eyes, and Hermione finally caved.

An hour later found them sitting side by side on the sofa, Hermione jerkily recounting the entire tale. Ron sat there as silently and patiently as she'd ever seen him, squeezing her hand every now and then, but saying nothing. He hissed angrily between his teeth when she got to the part about Snape somehow controlling her thoughts, and finally, with the long tale over, Hermione fell silent.

There was no sound in the room for the longest time, save the crackle of the fireplace and their breathing. Hermione felt numb, like saying it all had somehow dampened it, but she could still hear the Snape-voice whispering.

"He's a dead man."

Hermione jumped as Ron's voice cut through the silence, and she turned her head to stare at him. The youngest Weasley male was staring into the fireplace, his posture rigid and his jaw clenched. "What?" she asked, her voice shaking, and Ron shook his head.

"You heard me."

Hermione scoffed angrily, tossing her hair back as she glared at the back of his head. "I don't need some knight to come rushing in and save me. Honestly, you and Kingsley…"

At that, Ron turned his head and raised an eyebrow, and a strange look flitted across his face. The other teen drew a sharp breath, then sighed and smiled at her ruefully. "Hell, Mione, I know that you can defend yourself just fine. If you decided to take me out, Merlin himself couldn't save me. That's commonly known  _fact_."

Hermione smiled slightly.

"But he has to pay, and he will," Ron said quietly. "Mark my words, Severus Snape will die by my hand."

Then, before she could say another word, he was banging his way out of the room, yelling back over his shoulder, "You need to upgrade me from a teaspoon!"

 

* * *

 

_Malfoy Manor_

_The outskirts of Malmesbury_

_Wiltshire, England_

 

"They did a thorough job," Albus said softly, his arms held loosely at his sides as he surveyed the grounds.

Minerva grunted beside him, while Hagrid and Rosmerta shot him twin looks of incredulity.

" _Thorough_?" Rosmerta said shrilly, gesturing towards the wreckage. "Is  _that_ what you'd call this?"

Hagrid just shook his head.

They stood in the early morning light, just inside the twisted metal gates that had once separated the manor grounds from the world outside. It was clear that the place had been magnificent, once – there were carefully placed plots of flowers and bushes artfully arranged all over the grounds, a beautiful stream bubbling off to the far left, that likely met the river just outside the grounds… Malfoy Manor had been absolutely stunning.

Albus frowned and looked up at the pile of stone and charred wood at the top of the hill. Furls of smoke were still rising from the rubble, and every so often, a blue or white spark would shoot up from somewhere under the stones.

It had been four days, and the magic was still building.

"What ritual did you say he used, Albus?" Rosy asked, her eyes narrowed on the space. The pub owner took a few steps towards the manor then stopped, hissing.

"He invented it."

Rosmerta's eyes snapped back to his and she stared steadily at Albus, her normally friendly face flat and severe. "He invented it."

"He and Hermione Granger, with help from a source we cannot disclose," Minerva added as she gazed off to the right, where a horsebarn stood on the property. The flames seemed to have stopped just feet away from the barn, forming a perfect circle around the structure. Inside, the horses still whinnied, and Albus could hear a snorting sound carrying on the wind every now and then.

The furthest reach of the property was much the same. The flames had spread across the grounds, coming to a stop in a perfect line along the edge of the property. Though several heavy-bowed trees lined the edges, some of the branches stretching across the property line, not a single leaf was so much as singed.

"Well, what they invented," Rosmerta muttered darkly, "you might not want to use it very much. I liked that boy. Is he still alive?" she asked sharply, shooting Dumbledore a dirty look.

Albus winced before he nodded. Truth be told, he was starting to be a bit alarmed.

"According to Mr. Potter," Minerva cut in, glancing at him worriedly out of the corner of her eye, "he was unconscious for about twenty-four hours, and he was moving rather slowly for a day afterwards, but as far as we can tell, he suffered no lasting effects."

Rosmerta shook her head, pursing her cupid's lips together with a frown. "He should be dead," she said flatly. Minerva and Dumbledore shot each other worried looks as Hagrid exclaimed his shock, and Rosmerta scowled.

"I can see what he was trying to do," the barkeep murmured. Ignoring the others, she crouched down and picked up a small handful of dirt, rubbing it between her index and forefinger. "I'm not a wards expert, mind, rituals were my study, and he hadn't yet delved into wards when he left my tutelage. But it seems to me that the intent was to block any dark magic or dark talismans from entering the property. The Dark Mark would certainly be blocked, and so anyone who bore it."

"If that was the  _intent_ ," Albus asked slowly, a worried frown on his face, "what was the actual result?"

Rosmerta laughed bitterly. "Albus, nothing is going to be living here for 100 years at least…except maybe unicorns."

Around them, a soft, chill breeze began to blow, the wind catching the flames ahead and teasing them upwards. The sparks of little lightning grew closer and closer together, and Albus tipped his head back to gaze at the giant white lightning bolt that still floated above Malfoy Manor.

That had been Harry's idea, a mockery of Voldemort's  _Mosmodre_  spell.

"Rosy," Dumbledore said quietly, "what do you mean?"

She sighed. "Maybe the wording was too general," she said slowly, "maybe they overpowered it. Whatever happened, this property is now surrounded by a judgment ward. Anyone who crosses onto the property will be examined by magic and…  _encouraged_  off the property if found wanting."

"And what would make someone be judged  _wanting_?" Minerva asked with a scowl.

"Anything," Rosmerta replied. "Any harm done to another, deliberate or accidental. Any uncharitable thought. This ward does not leave any room for error, any space to be human."

"Hagrid," Albus said with a smile, "you'll be able to stay here just fine."

"The only one of us, I'm sure," Minerva murmured, patting the giant man's arm, and Hagrid flushed behind his beard.

"Now, now," he said with a smile, his beetle-black eyes flashing. "I'm no saint me own self."

"What will happen, I suppose?" Albus mused.

Rosmerta scoffed, shooting him a dirty look. "Find out for yourself."

Albus smiled absently, shaking his head before he stepped forward.

It felt rather like being stung by a dozen bees, he thought. Frowning back at the others, he stood silently on an uncharred stretch of grass, extending his senses and closing his eyes. He could sense  _something_ , a strange sensation in the air, somehow an oppressive weight and a marvelous light all at once.

The bee stings felt more like acid being thrown on his skin, suddenly. Ariana's face swam before his eyes, then Aberforth's, Gellert's, Newt,  _Harry…_ All around, he heard the echoing sound of their voices, chastising him as they never had before. Their faces faded and in his mind was a graveyard, the headstones all bearing familiar names… The acid burns began to feel like pure fire…

A gloved hand flew out of the air and wrapped around his arm, and Albus's eyes shot open as he was yanked back to the others. He looked at the floating black glove in askance, then shot a bewildered look at Rosmerta, who smiled at him.

Well. He supposed she didn't know that the 'floating' black glove was actually him standing there, invisible.

"Yes, I used your own spell against you," the barkeep said calmly. "It got worse the longer you stood there, didn't it?"

Albus simply nodded, his eyes going back to the rubble at the top of the hill.

"As I suspected, then," Rosmerta murmured. "It's a judgment ward, but since they weren't all that specific, any wrongdoing against another will trigger the spell."

"And let he who is without sin," Minerva said softly, frowning.

"Exactly," Rosmerta agreed. "Albus, I doubt you'll be able to even get to the manor, let alone spend any time digging through the rubble."

"There's something in there that I need," the Headmaster replied, his eyes still fixed on the ruins. In his mind, Ariana continued to whisper to him, and he swallowed and then let out a shaky breath.

"Well, look on the bright side," Hagrid said gruffly, and the two witches turned to look at him. "You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, if Dumbledore can't get by that spell, they don't stand a chance."

"We'll need to figure out how to circumvent it," Albus mused, his eyes narrowed. Behind him, he heard Rosmerta's heavy sigh.

"Albus, I told you years ago. I quit."

"And yet, he is still not avenged."

The barkeep's eyes cut to his face, raw fury radiating from her. She wasn't as recovered from the past as he had thought, Albus realized suddenly. The death of her lover, the thing that had ripped her from the mastery program and sent her running to hide behind a bar –

 _Like you hid in a school_ , a voice in the back of his mind hissed suddenly, and Albus flinched.

"I will see what I can do," Rosmerta replied suddenly, her words sharp and biting. "Between Harry's raw power, the obvious enhancement artifacts they used, Bill's general skill and the fact that this is an  _unknown_  spell, I promise nothing. But I'll see what I can do."

Albus smiled at her genially. He would just have to return another time. Turning on his heel, he clapped Hagrid on the arm, unable to reach his shoulder. "Come, Hagrid. As apparently I have no need of your strength here, let us go check on your brother."

"I'll stay with Rosmerta," Minerva said stiffly. "In case they come back."

"Very well."

"Oh, and Albus," the pub owner called as they crossed back to the gate. The Headmaster turned on his heel, raising an eyebrow at her. Rosmerta's pretty face was blank, her eyes flat, and she looked at him with her mouth set in a thin line.

"If you  _ever_  use Edgar to manipulate me again," she said evenly, "I will make certain you regret it."

 

* * *

 

_Unknown_

 

"I'm afraid that's simply out of the question."

Arthur smiled lightly at the man sitting across the desk from him. They were in a shadowed little corner, far underground. Frost lined the walls, the only light from scattered candles floating in the air. The floor was damp and covered in moss and slime, and the air smelled strongly of mildew.

Merlin, he hated reporting in. Especially as they were tucked behind every ward and secrecy spell known to the Confederation, and  _still,_ the man whispered. His father, at least, had had a  _spine_.

"Matias, you know as well as I that the current British Ministry is compromised," he said simply. "Whatever orders they have given regarding myself and my family are politically motivated, not legitimate charges."

"And yet, if we were to continue to back you, it could be seen as subverting the sovereign rights of a free nation," Matias Spielman shot back, his face going a violent shade of red. "We cannot  _risk_  it, Arthur!"

"Then why have you called me here, if not to help?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. Spielman's face went amazingly redder, and Arthur nodded to himself. "Ah. I see."

"I had no choice, Arthur," the other man replied, his voice now trembling. Spielman shot a glance behind them at the stairwell leading to the main floor. Footsteps were sounding above. "It was orders."

"From whom?"

Spielman shook his head. "They think if we turn you in, we will gain favor with this so-called Dark Lord. That we might be able to slip someone inside."

Arthur rarely felt anger anymore – time and experience had tempered most of his extremes – and yet, at that moment, he could admit he was moderately annoyed. "Did it occur to none of you that I'm considerably more useful moving about freely?"

"Why do you think I'm warning you?" Spielman hissed. With a shaking hand, he reached up and loosened his tie. Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead as Arthur watched calmly. "Look. I don't know what's going on. Truth is that I have no way of knowing if the leadership is compromised."

Matias Spielman, the angry little paper-pusher who had acted as Arthur's handler for the ICW for years, met Arthur's eyes evenly. "But I  _know_  you aren't," the man said quietly, and Arthur bit back a surprised retort. "I expect you already have your England cell in hand. Australia is still in good shape. Turkey reported in five days ago asking me how to reach you. Romania and Germany are off the grid. I don't know about the others."

 _Fuck_. "How long?"

"Since mid-August," Matias admitted ruefully. "You need to call them in, Arthur, get everyone together so you can get the lay of the land."

At this, Arthur shook his head. He wasn't sure what was going on yet, but he knew calling in all his operatives was  _not_  the answer. No, he had his own way to handle a disaster. "How long do we have?"

Matias flushed again, the man's hand twitching. "I was told to stall you for ten minutes."

Arthur snorted, glancing up at the ceiling again. The sound of footsteps was growing louder, and he heard the soft creak of an opening door.

Really, sitting behind a desk all the time made field agents lose their edge, he knew… but had none of them heard of silencing charms?

"Are you going to fight your way out?" Matias asked, as footsteps began to thunder down the stairs. Arthur shook his head, snorting again.

"Really, Matias, when have you ever known me to be theatrical?" He chuckled lightly under his breath, then sent the other man an apologetic smile. "Be safe."

Then with a brandish of his wand, he sent Spielman flying across the room to bash into the wall, landing in a crumpling heap on the floor. The man groaned feebly, curling in a ball on his side. Shouts echoed from above him, and Arthur looked at the bottom of the stairwell and frowned.

Then he moved carefully across the room and melted into the walls.

 _I don't have enough time_ , he thought worriedly. With a weary sigh, he leaned his head back against the outside of the building he'd just left, looking around himself curiously. He wasn't certain what country he was in – headquarters moved indiscriminately, and often without warning. But  _Merlin_ , what a view. The boardwalk where he stood stretched across beautiful white sands, with the ocean gleaming like a jewel as far as he could see. All around, palm trees waved in a slight, warm breeze.

He'd need to figure out where he had come out, and bring Molly back, one of these days.

With one more wistful glance at the waves, he spun on his heel and vanished, landing in a crumbling Citadel. He strode quickly out of the ruins and moved across the city, his hand clenched on his wand in his pocket. Slipping into Voynich, he moved to the corner and sat down across from the man already there, hunched over a menu.

"We have a problem," the Romanian grunted, and Arthur let out a tired sigh.

 

* * *

 

_Room of Requirement_

_Hogwarts_

 

Silence had echoed through the room after Hermione finished speaking. Harry felt numb, staring at the girl blankly. A strange buzzing sound started in his ears and a red haze formed over his vision.

 _Calm down, mate_ , he thought to himself,  _before you explode something_.

Glancing around the room, he took in the others' expressions. From the way Hermione had glanced at Ron before she started, Harry was certain the other boy already knew. Ginny was crying openly, and Luna looked sad, but not surprised.

It was Neville's reaction that startled Harry slightly. The stocky Gryffindor had shot to his feet, stalked across the room, and shot an impressive fireball at a cut-out shaped just like the dour Potions Master. Only after the likeness had been reduced to ash did the other boy rejoin them at the chairs.

"We need to think about what this means," Ron said simply.

"Either this is one of Dumbledore's more terrible plans, to help solidify his cover with the Death Eaters," Neville began.

"Which, allowing Snape to hurt Hermione like this? I don't think he would go that far," Ginny cut in, and the others nodded as Harry frowned. He was never sure anymore what he thought of the Headmaster. He believed the elderly wizard  _meant_  well, surely, but…

"Or, he really has been on Voldemort's side this whole time," Neville finished.

"It might not be that simple," Hermione said quietly, and Ron shot her a sympathetic glance while Ginny scoffed. "No, really. This might be his own plan to solidify his cover. He might be on his  _own_  side and using us all to get what he wants. He might have recently decided to side with Voldemort after all. We have no way to really discern his motives."

"I don't think his motives really matter," Harry countered. "Even if this was some twisted plan to help his cover, he went too far."

Ron was shaking his head. "That's not it," the youngest Weasley son said simply, and everyone turned to look at him questioningly. "The timing is what's bothering me," he muttered. "I mean, if we assume that he's a traitor and he's with Voldemort, he's been deep cover for, what? Fifteen years at least?" Shoving to his feet, he paced over toward the fireplace. "So why break cover now?"

"Maybe Voldemort doesn't think he needs him at the school anymore," Ginny shrugged. "Another spy?"

"No," Ron shook his head, frowning. "Why pull your best asset? That makes no sense. Unless…"

He trailed off, looking across the room at Hermione. The curly-haired witch bit her lip, her face shadowed. "Unless he doesn't think he'll need  _anyone_  at the school anymore."

"Think about it, mate," Ron said urgently, spinning to face Harry. "You had  _one_  Voldemort dream all summer,  _one_. And it was perfectly timed to hear them talking about an attack?"

Harry closed his eyes, thinking back. He pictured the dream carefully –

 _Be ready to move on Halloween. That seems like a fitting time_ , Voldemort's voice echoed in his mind. The feeling of glee in the air. Malfoy's harried attempts to fake nonchalance. Dolohov's disappointment.

"I don't think that was a fake," Harry said slowly. "It felt different than when Sirius was – "

"I don't either," Ron replied. "I think it was staged."

"What?"

Ron threw himself back down on the couch as the others stared at him. "He lowered his defenses and breached yours, to make sure you heard  _that_  exact conversation. He wanted us to think he was planning to kidnap Hermione and Gin  _on Halloween_. Then a few weeks later, they take Ginny and let her go after just a couple days. Why?"

Hermione frowned. "We were a distraction."

Ron snapped his fingers, pointing at her and nodding as Luna's eyes widened. "Exactly," Ron said with a scowl. "Half of winning a war is morale. Morale is already pretty damn low, after all the attacks this summer, then the Ministry and Diagon Alley. If I wanted to crush opposition, I'd make sure everyone knows the leaders of that side can't protect them."

"By having us expecting, and getting ready for, something smaller," Hermione continued. "So when the real attack comes, we're completely unprepared. And we look like fools."

"And everybody will see it," Ron finished.

"So, what?" Ginny asked, shooting a worried glance at Harry. The black-haired teen was sitting silently in the corner, staring into the flames. "How soon do you think – ?"

"It'll still be Halloween," Harry said woodenly, his face shadowed. Ron and Hermione turned to look at him, and Luna nodded.

"The veil is thinnest at Samhain," Luna agreed, humming to herself.

"And Tom does love his symbolism," Ginny muttered darkly. "He's a total drama queen."

Neville let out a startled snort, shooting the fiery girl an amused grin. "We can't trust that, though, can we?" he asked with a tired sigh.

"No," Ron agreed. "We need to be ready as soon as possible."

Harry was exhausted. He'd used a huge amount of energy, going through the Fortress with Neville, Bill and the others. Making plans. Trying to figure out how to clean up and what to do with the place. Finding that place, getting inside, was a huge advantage.

Time to make sure they  _kept_  the advantage, he supposed.  _Bloody hell, Ron, I hope you're wrong._

"Then let's get ready," Harry said with a scowl. "We need to get the Fortress habitable quickly, in case we have to evacuate students there. Ginny, contact your mum and see if she can help. Ron, Nev, I want you to pull in the DA, ramp up the patrols for the school for the next few weeks. Teach them a few new vicious tricks." The two boys nodded and got to their feet, Ginny already spinning in her chair to firecall her mother.

"Hermione," Harry added quietly, and the brunette looked at him steadily. "Link up with Lupin, find out everything you can about the Map. I know he said Dad and Sirius made it mostly, but he must remember something. I want one made of the Fortress as fast as possible." Hermione bit her lip and frowned.

"If we are going to have civilians in the Fortress, we'll need to make some areas off-limits except to the Order and DA. I'll work with Bill on that," Harry continued. "Luna, can you see about setting up some sentries around the school and the Fortress? Something more permanent than your moths?"

The dreamy girl smiled gently. "I have a few ideas."

"Great," Harry smiled back at her, and Ron and Hermione looked at each other and grinned. "Ginny, once you have your mother set, come join me and Bill. We could use your help setting some traps, too."

"Alright," Ron muttered, "we have seven weeks at  _best_  to get this done."

"Looks like we're dropping out of classes," Ginny said teasingly, grinning at Hermione.

The brunette witch laughed, shaking her head. "Who was going to administer OWLs and NEWTs anyway?" she asked with a shrug. "The Examining Authority was based in the Ministry."

"She'll make us self-study," Ron grinned. "Just you watch."

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

 

"I'm not in the mood to chat, Headmaster," Bill said tiredly.

The aged wizard smiled at him benignly from his spot on the porch. The flamboyant lilac robes and pointed starry hat stood out in stark relief against the subdued backdrop of the cottage, and Dumbledore was standing next to the giant potted plant, one hand still nudging at the shrubbery.

The traitorous thing was cooing at him, and Bill made a face at the shrub before it shivered and scooted back carefully, edging itself away from Dumbledore. The Headmaster frowned.

"Come now, William," the Headmaster said softly. "We were great partners once, you and I. Must there be such tension between us?"

 _I don't know_ , Bill thought,  _must there_? He said nothing, walking up the steps and past Dumbledore, turning and stopping just in front of the door.

"The discovery of Slytherin's Fortress was a great accomplishment," the Headmaster continued, still smiling slightly. "You and Harry must be very proud."

"I'm sure it will be… useful," Bill said carefully. His free hand slipped into his pocket and he stretched out his other arm, resting his hand against the door frame in a clear show of impatience. He ached from head to toe, and the static sparking in his veins was stronger than its normal dormant state. With a scowl, he carefully looked inward, struggling to raise his Occlumency shields. It would  _not_  do to lose his temper at that moment.

"No doubt," Dumbledore chuckled. The Headmaster's smile faded and he fixed Bill with a serious gaze. "I've been to investigate at Malfoy Manor, my boy."

Bill blinked, not quite reacting fast enough to cover his surprise. "Oh?" he asked curiously. He didn't understand where the Headmaster was going with this – he had  _known_  what their plans were, after all.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, eyes still riveted on Bill's face. Shields now firmly in place, Bill met the elderly man's eyes steadily. "Rosmerta was kind enough to agree to inspect your work with me," he said.

Bill scowled at the mention of his former teacher. "She asked to be left out of things," he shot back, and Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"Ah, she did," the older man agreed. "But the times we live in don't allow anyone to truly be left to the sidelines, do they?"

Bill was silent.

"The magic there, William, it is…. curious," the Headmaster murmured. "Which leads me to believe that you were lying. You found something in Italy."

His temper rose. Flashes of blue started at the edges of his vision. He felt the bite of electricity at his fingertips. "Dust," he said evenly, letting out a careful breath and closing his eyes. He stood there frozen a moment, struggling to push back the surge.

"I need to  _know_ , Bill," Dumbledore said urgently, and Bill opened his eyes to find the Headmaster standing almost nose to nose with him. He stepped back, anger rising again, and this time, he didn't bother to temper it.

"Or  _what_?" he snarled. "You'll take Harry from me? Good.  _Luck_."

"My boy," the Headmaster began. "I must – "

"No," Bill cut him off, glaring. "I've long since run out of patience with you, old man. If you're so worried I did something awful there – " He stepped forward again, jaw clenched, and hissed at the Headmaster, " _Maybe you shouldn't have sent me_."

With a scoff, he spun on his heel, pulling the door open with more force than was necessary. Glancing back over his shoulder, he met the gaze of the stricken man on his porch. "I revoke your invitation," he said softly.

The wards sparked around them and a brilliant red glow appeared around them, oozing up out of the floorboards of the porch, the walls of the cottage. A sharp crack sounded, and Dumbledore was gone – sent back to wherever he had come from before arriving at Shell Cottage.

Bill let out a tired sigh, leaned his forehead against the wall, and closed his eyes. With a fortifying breath, he opened his eyes and straightened up, bracing himself for the next confrontation. For the person he knew was waiting for him.

Stepping into the kitchen, he paused, taking in the shadowed form sitting at the table. His father had his back to him, his head bowed slightly, and the man was holding an empty bottle in one hand. The older man rarely drank, which told Bill that his father had had a terrible day as well… or was just as worried as Bill was about the conversation they were about to have.

Heaving another sigh, Bill crossed to the ice chest and filled two glasses with ice, then poured a bit of scotch and walked over to the table.

The older man waited silently, his eyes tracking Bill's movements across the room. Carefully, Bill set a glass down on the table in front of his father, then sat across from him, setting down his own glass and casually leaning the chair back.

"Shall I go first, or will you?" he asked lightly, quirking his lips in a slight grin.

Arthur Weasley smiled.

 

* * *

~*~ALIBI


	16. The Fell Clutch of Circumstance

**A/N:** Trigger warning in this chapter for sexual assault. It isn't graphic, but it is clear enough. The sections that include that are marked with an asterisk in case anyone needs to skip them.

~*~ALIBI

* * *

 

 

_*Unknown_

_September 30, 1996_

 

Severus bit back a pleased chuckle as he straightened up, calmly zipping his trousers and fixing his robes. Before him, the brunette woman also straightened, pulling her skirt back down with steady hands. He watched as she turned to look at him, her chocolate eyes vacant.

"Will that be all, Professor?" Emma asked sweetly. Her face was an emotionless mask, her dark brown ringlets frizzing around her head.

It was almost enough that he could pretend. _Almost_. But the older, lesser version of his vexing student still stood there, waiting patiently for instruction.

"Yes, thank you," Snape replied. "You are dismissed."

Emma smiled robotically and turned around, leaving the room without so much as a glance at either of the men in the room. One day… one day soon, her daughter would be just as pliable. One day, he would…

"Would you like another one, Professor?" a tense voice cut through his musings.

The dour Potions Master smirked as he looked across the room. Dan Granger was seated in a squashy armchair in the corner, placed with the perfect vantage point of the couch. The Muggle man was still, a half-drunk stout on the end table to his right.

But the male Granger's hand was clenched, white-knuckled, around the brew he was holding out in offer. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were anything but blank as he looked at Severus.

Clearly, Hermione had inherited her fire from her _paternal_ line.

Severus smirked as he gazed back at the man whose wife he had just violated. "No, thank you, Dan," he said pleasantly. "I really must be going. Much to do."

"What a shame," Dan Granger muttered, and Severus's gaze sharpened.

The Curse was holding just fine on the female Granger, but this one… He shook his head, scowling to himself. Best not to take chances.

" _Imperious,"_ he whispered again, his wand trained on Dan Granger's face. He watched carefully as the spell sank into the other man's consciousness, as he relaxed back in the chair, his face slackening. Nodding to himself, Severus straightened his robes once more and headed for the foyer, spinning on his heel to Apparate from the home.

Just a few more weeks, and he would have his prize. Halloween was 31 days away.

 

* * *

 

_Unknown_

 

Dan Granger sat motionless in the armchair, his eyes fixed on the doorway where the son of a bitch had just disappeared. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to stand, to lift his arm, hell, to even open his mouth and _speak_. A little experimenting revealed he could move his fingers, but only barely. He clenched his hand around the arm of his chair, wishing he could scream.

He could hear Emma humming to herself happily as she bustled around in the kitchen, and he felt his fury surge again in his veins.

His Emma _hated_ to cook. Never stepped foot in front of the stove unless she was handing him something. She didn't hum. She didn't wear skirts.

She didn't fucking _break_.

His fingers split open, blood staining the armchair where he had squeezed so hard that he'd broken the wooden frame.

He had trusted that man with his _daughter_.

Hermione was no damsel, no shrinking flower. Maybe she'd be alright. Heaven knew, she was stronger than _that_ piece of work.

But so was Emma.

Angry tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as he sat there, frozen.

Maybe the others would figure out something was wrong. Pomfret – his wife had grown close with her. Or that Auror, the burly guy that had been checking in on them every couple days – Shack or something? Maybe they would know. The both of them had seemed to be good judges of character. Maybe they would protect her.

Day turned to night. Emma stopped puttering around in the kitchen and went up the stairs to bed, singing to herself.

Dan still couldn't move.

 _Please, God,_ he thought to himself, _keep that man away from my little girl._

 

* * *

 

_Little Hangleton Graveyard_

_Little Hangleton_

_England_

 

Emmeline landed quietly behind the angel statue. The ground beneath her feet was slippery and she swore as she lost her footing, catching herself with a hand on the weeping angel's bent wing. Pulling herself upright, she looked around the graveyard with narrowed eyes. It was freezing out, but then again… it always was nowadays. You couldn't go two blocks without tripping over a Dementor in some parts.

If Moody were still around, he would have ripped them all a new one for checking out tips alone. But they were stretched thin, and no one was available right then but her and the twins. And things had been rather… frosty between herself and the pranksters since she had suggested their father had… well.

She shook her head, frowning. Florean was her _uncle_ , of course she'd been upset!

"Ahem," a voice cut through her reverie, and Em jumped, grabbing wildly for her wand. She lit the tip and stared across the grass, letting out a relieved sigh when she saw who had startled her.

"Honestly," she muttered to herself as she shoved her wand back in her holster, "you could have _told me_ you were coming, Charlie."

The other man smiled at her strangely, and Em felt a sudden chill go down her spine. The look on his face was serene, almost bored… completely out of place on Charlie's friendly, expressive features.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Around them, the air chilled, and Em's heart raced wildly as she watched her breath crystallize into vapor. Shadows began to move at the far reaches of the graveyard.

And the man wearing Charlie's face continued to smile at her calmly. And didn't speak.

 _It isn't him_ , she realized frantically. _It's Polyjuice._

_This is a trap._

"I want a taste," a guttural voice growled from behind her, and Em screamed as a hairy arm wrapped around her from behind. Sharp, claw-like nails dug into the soft flesh of her belly, and a pair of sharp teeth sank into her shoulder.

Emmeline screamed herself hoarse the man holding her up from behind ripped chunks of flesh apart with his teeth. Her tears froze on her cheeks as the temperature around them continued to plummet.

And Charlie's cheerful face watched impassively as she died.

 

* * *

 

_Tonks Cottage_

_Sandalwood Bay, Scotland_

_October 5, 1996_

 

"This is incredible, Mrs. Weasley," Hannah exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she worked through a steaming bowl of stew. The matron smiled at her, bouncing Emily on one knee as she watched the girls eat.

The weekly dinners at the Order safe-house had become a regular routine, one that Hannah looked forward to every week. It had been about a month since Mrs. Weasley had taken over for Sue's Auntie, stepping forward to take care of Emily while Hannah was at school and Auntie Amelia worked on… whatever she was working on. Immediately after taking Emily in, Mrs. Weasley had reached out to her and Sue, inviting them to come visit every weekend so they could see the little girl.

And so she could keep tabs on them, Ron had warned her, but Hannah didn't mind.

"I'm glad you like it," the Weasley matriarch said gently. "I'm happy to teach you the recipe – Ginny doesn't much like cooking." She shot a rueful look at her only daughter, who snorted and shook her head.

"Not all of us can be SuperMums," Ginny teased, a smile quirking at her lips. Hannah shot the other girl a look, then exchanged worried glances with Susan across the table.

Ginny's smile never seemed to reach her eyes anymore.

" _Oui_ ," Fleur agreed. "I 'ave tried zis recipe many times and cannot quite match ze taste. Beel always pretends, zou," she added with a slight smirk.

Molly chuckled and Sue shot Fleur a grin. The two girls had bonded over the last several weeks, and Hannah was glad. Sue tried to hide it, but she knew her best friend was wearied from her constant worrying over Hannah… and the war.

"I can't thank you enough for helping out with Emily, Mrs. Weasley," she murmured, a frown spreading across her face. "Auntie Amelia just had too much work, but you didn't have to step in like this."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Weasley shook her head, waving her free hand absently. In her lap, Emily muttered excitedly as a mobile of dragons and fairies spun above her head. "Children are such a joy at this age." Raising her voice slightly, she called over her shoulder at Fleur, who had moved across the room to add another log to the fire, "Isn't that right, Fleur?"

Hannah glanced at Ginny and Sue in confusion. Sue shrugged, but Ginny was watching Fleur like a hawk as her future sister-in-law straightened slowly. The part-Veela turned around and looked at Mrs. Weasley silently, her mouth set in a thin line.

The older woman smiled at her gently. "Have you told him yet?" she asked, and Hannah gasped as she caught up to the conversation. Sue was grinning, her eyes sparkling… but Ginny looked even more grim.

"Non," Fleur said quietly, shooting a glance at Ginny. "I am waiting unteel I am a beet furzer along."

Molly's eyes were misty as she nodded, but Hannah held back a tired sigh as she studied Ginny's face. Ron had mentioned in one of their late-night lake walks that his sister was getting more and more temperamental as the weeks wore on. She'd thought he was overreacting, but…

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said thickly. She reached out and clasped Fleur's hand, blinking back happy tears. "I'm glad someone at least is making time for happiness, even during such dark days."

The older woman looked at her daughter pointedly, and Hannah winced. Something flickered in Ginny's eyes, but to her credit, the younger girl said nothing.

"I am just trying to rest," Fleur agreed softly. The blonde woman sat back down gracefully, shooting the table a dazzling smile. "And keep Beel from worrying, since I am sleeping so much."

"You can't keep him from worrying, dear," Molly advised with a snort. "He gets that from me, I'm afraid."

"Mrs. Weasley?" Sue asked suddenly. "How did you and Mr. Weasley meet?" Hannah eyed her friend curiously, biting her lip. It wasn't like Sue to be a romantic.

The woman let out a happy sigh, eyes bright again as she smiled at Sue. "Oh, we were at Hogwarts together, dear," she said simply, and Ginny rolled her eyes, a slight smile on her face.

"Well, yes, but how did you start _dating_?" Sue pressed, and Mrs. Weasley chuckled. Hannah eyed the older woman curiously, and Fleur shot the woman an inquisitive glance.

"Well…" The older woman hesitated, brushing a curl back from Emily's face as she bounced the little girl. "Oh, bother. It was my fifth year, Arthur's sixth," she began. "I was dating a seventh year, Tiberius McClaggen. His nephew is one of the… well." She cleared her throat, eyes distant, and Ginny shot Hannah and Sue a meaningful look.

His nephew was Cormac McClaggen, one of the Marked students.

"Tiberius had started to be a bit… careless and cruel, and I decided to break it off with him," she explained. "I used to love Astronomy as a younger witch, and I spent quite a bit of time on the Astronomy Tower at night, stargazing. Only when no one was _occupying_ it, of course," she added with a suprisingly wicked grin, and Hannah giggled. The Astronomy Tower had been a go-to spot for couples for quite some time.

"One night," Mrs. Weasley's voice went quiet, "I was on the tower and Tiberius showed up. We argued, and then he grabbed me and threw me against the wall and started to tear at my robes – "

She trailed off, clearing her throat, as Ginny looked at her sharply.

"And Arthur appeared out of nowhere, and blasted him clear off the tower," Mrs. Weasley finished, a shadowed look in her eyes. "I knew him from classes, of course, and he had a fondness for stargazing too, so sometimes, we would cross paths. But we weren't really friends at that point. I barely knew him."

"Everyone knew, though, that Arthur Weasley was a friendly, cheerful and easygoing wizard. He never yelled at anyone. Never got into fights or got detention. Model student, really," she added, her lips quirking in a grin. "Not like me. But to see him that night – he was so cold, so focused. He never hesitated."

Clearing her throat again, the woman refocused her gaze, looking at all the girls calmly. "The moment Tiberius was falling, Arthur just turned his back on him. Walked over to me and asked me if I was alright, took off his robes and wrapped them around me. By then, teachers had started to arrive, and I found out later that the Headmaster had caught Tiberius before he hit the ground." She coughed slightly. "Arthur was lucky he wasn't sent to Azkaban. They were able to justify it as defense of another, and he was sentenced to a year's community service."

A heavy silence fell over the room as the witches all processed the story. Hannah shook her head as she tried to picture the steady, friendly man coldly sending someone to his death. At sixteen. Their age.

 _Well_ , she supposed, _I might have to do the same soon. Sue already has_. She eyed her friend worriedly again.

"The McClaggens must have been furious," Sue whispered, and Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"Arthur and Tiberius have never managed to get along," Mrs. Weasley said softly. "The Ministry decided the ordeal was punishment enough, so Tiberius wasn't charged with anything. And after that, Arthur went back to being the friendly, mild-mannered boy everyone knew. The whole wizarding world assumed that he was afraid of his anger, and that _that_ was why he was such a pushover."

Meeting her only daughter's eyes, Molly Weasley smiled. "But we know better, don't we?" she murmured, and Ginny simply nodded.

"Violence so young, it changes you," Mrs. Weasley continued. "That's why I just wish…"

Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat, eyes bright again. With a shake of her head, she reached down and picked up the baby spoon, coaxing Emily to eat some more stew.

Hannah coughed, glancing beseechingly at Fleur and Sue. The somber atmosphere was starting to wear on her, and _Merlin_ …. Fleur shot the girl a gentle smile, and gently reached over and touched Mrs. Weasley's arm.

"Zis dinner was a wonderful idea."

Hannah nodded enthusiastically, sopping up some broth with a warm chunk of bread. She let out a quiet sigh of relief as Mrs. Weasley brightened, the room seeming to become cheery once again.

Ginny's mood didn't adjust, she noticed – the youngest Weasley sat perfectly still, staring down at the table.

But Hannah felt just a tiny bit better. Good food, a break from the constant training, patrols, classes, war preparation… She cleared her bowl and bit back a laugh when Mrs. Weasley brandished her wand, sending more stew spiraling into the bowl.

With so much heavy food in her, maybe she'd even be able to sleep that night.

"I just wish you could have gotten Hermione and Luna to join us, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said worriedly. "They both need a break."

"They're working," Ginny said tightly, not looking up from the table. The girl's hands were clenched around her spoon, knuckles white.

"Well, yes," the matron fussed. "But surely, someone else could – "

"Who else?" Ginny hissed. "Maybe you hadn't noticed, Mum, but we're running out of 'someone else's."

Moody's face flashed through Hannah's mind as Sue grimaced, and Mrs. Weasley's face turned red.

"Ginevra," the woman started, "I know you don't like to hear this, but you _are_ still children, and – "

 _Here we go_ , Hannah thought with a sigh. They weren't going to escape a fight after all. Emily had started to whine, her big eyes filling with tears as the atmosphere grew tense. Standing quickly, she slipped across the room and scooped Emily up, clutching her baby sister to her chest. Mrs. Weasley let go without protest, still speaking.

" – _someone_ has to – "

Fleur's lips were set in a thin line as she glanced over at Sue, who was eyeing Ginny nervously. The redheaded girl had gone completely still.

"What did you think, Mum?" Ginny cut in suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. Hannah shivered as the other girl's emotionless voice hit the air. Slowly, Ginny set down her spoon, looking up and pinning her mother with a cold stare. "That we could have a normal life? Finish school, get married, give you dozens of grandkids?" Scorn suddenly dripped from her voice and the younger girl scoffed, her eyes flashing. She stood smoothly, stepping back from the table and sliding in her chair.

"Normal died in the Department of Mysteries," she continued evenly, meeting her mother's stricken stare. "Hell, normal died in the Chamber. All we have LEFT is the fight."

Silence echoed in the room and Hannah rubbed her baby sister's back soothingly as the girl quietened. Mrs. Weasley was still staring at her only daughter, eyes wide and face mottled.

"Ginny, I – " the Weasley matriarch began, but Ginny was already shaking her head, shooting a rueful smile at her mother.

"I can't do this right now," the girl confessed. "I can't sit here and play happy families while the world burns. If that's what you want, Mum," she added, the bite coming back into her voice, "you should probably call Charlie or Fred. Fred would probably even wear a skirt for you."

Without another word, Ginny spun on her heel and strode to the fireplace. She was gone in a flash of smoke.

Hannah and Sue stared at each other, eyes wide, as Molly Weasley sat gazing sadly at the fireplace. With a quiet cough, Fleur got to her feet and swept from the room, Flooing out of the cottage without a word.

Mrs. Weasley broke down in tears, and Hannah rushed across the room to wrap her arms around the older woman as Sue scooped up Emily, watching with a soft frown.

 

* * *

 

_The Fortress_

_Hirta Island, St. Kilna_

_Outer Hebrides, Scotland_

 

Ginny landed roughly on her heeled boots, dirt and gravel flying through the air. She narrowed her eyes through the cloud of dust and fixed her gaze on the entrance to the Fortress, jaw clenched and shoulders ramrod straight.

She had shaken off Fleur at Shell Cottage and immediately set off for the island. She didn't want to talk about her feelings. All she wanted to do was _hit_ something.

The weeks following their decision to drop out of classes had been among the most stressful of Ginny's life. Between learning to Apparate – a necessity at this point, her father had pointed out, and the others had agreed – researching with Luna, and setting the traps for the grounds, Ginny couldn't remember the last time she'd been still for more than four hours. She was exhausted. Her temper was fraying.

And they weren't even at the _bad_ parts yet.

When she got back to the castle, she really needed to pay Vik another visit, see if he'd found anything yet from her blood sample. And check in on Hermione's treatment.

Something was off _there_ , too, and she knew it. Hermione hadn't told them everything. She'd have to add it to her list. _Above_ trying to figure out what unicorn blood had been used for, and what Rookwood was playing at, and –

She rubbed the back of one hand tiredly across her eyes, letting out a ragged sigh. She would have to apologize to Mum later.

She _knew_ her mother, after all. While her Mum knew what she'd been through in the Chamber, she didn't really understand – how could she? But the woman just refused to accept that her children were growing up, and had grown up fighting.

She'd lost her brothers; she had her own scars. So, Ginny mused, it made sense that her mother was terrified to let them fight. Ginny hadn't known about her mum's history with McClaggen, either. From Scrimgeour and Bones' reports from the Ministry before it collapsed, she knew the man was still alive. A month ago he had been, at least. Idly, she wondered which side he was really on. Maybe she'd get an excuse.

She was telling Ron. She was _definitely_ telling Bill.

But she needed to apologize later.

Mind made up, Ginny nodded to herself and strode up the walk, her boots clicking on the stone as she crossed into the Fortress. Just inside the door, she practically ran into Harry, who stood with Deacon and Alex glaring at a seemingly random spot on the wall. Rolling her shoulders and cracking her knuckles, she grinned viciously as she joined them.

Halloween was in twenty six days.

 

* * *

 

_Order Safehouse_

_Somewhere in Hampshire_

 

Luna smiled serenely at the German, her eyes sparkling. "Thank you, Mr. Brand," she said in her quiet singsong as McGonagall stood stiffly beside her. The Transfiguration Professor snorted, her eyes fixed on the prisoner, and the German man smirked at her before smiling warmly at Luna.

"Always happy to help Pan's girl," the man said, grinning as McGonagall bristled. "If you run into any more trouble, you just come back and pay me another visit."

"I will," Luna said simply as the man's smile widened. She turned and skipped from the room, her eyes fixed on the fireplace.

Harry had given her a seemingly simple task, and yet. While Luna was easily able to communicate with the strange creatures of the world, she just couldn't seem to come up with anything that would be reliable enough to truly act as sentries for the school and the Fortress. The glow moths were wonderful for short term, but they tended to wander off after a short time. Aside from Celeste, of course – she always stayed with Luna.

Really, she couldn't blame them for wanting to go explore. The world was just so _interesting_.

If not for the blood drinking tendencies of Chupacabras, they would have been her next suggestion, but… She had asked Deacon, but the cursebreaker hadn't any suggestions. And truthfully, the man seemed oddly frightened of her.

She giggled at the thought as she stepped into the Floo, stepping out in Professor McGonagall's office. With a gentle smile, she thanked the Deputy Headmistress and skipped away to the third floor.

A smile and a kind word to the gargoyle had the sentry moving away, and Luna stood patiently on the spiral staircase as it wound slowly up to the Headmaster's office. She knocked once on the door and then eased into the room, slipping into a chair beside Hermione with a glance at the other girl.

Her friend seemed strained, eyes tired and hands shaking, as she sat at the large round table. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat on her left, Remus Lupin on her right, as she argued animatedly with Dumbledore. On the table before them, a large parchment was spread out, traces of black lines racing across the surface. They seemed to be almost vibrating, none of them staying in place for more than a moment.

"But if we use an object as the focus – " Hermione was saying, waving her hands as Dumbledore watched her indulgently.

"The charms simply aren't strong enough," the Headmaster disagreed. "No, this isn't the solution." The Headmaster's eyes twinkled slightly as he winked at Luna.

"Multiple objects?" Shacklebolt suggested, and Luna turned her gaze to the burly ex-Auror. The man glowed a deep sapphire blue, threads of gold light shooting through the aura. The cloudy haze still lingered around his head, and her eyes narrowed as she watched the man shift in his chair.

No, he wouldn't do. Neither would Dumbledore. His colors were too gray, Shacklebolt's too wrapped up in someone else. Turning to study Lupin, Luna smiled at the deep, steady amber that seemed to swirl around him.

Perhaps.

With a smile, she got to her feet and slipped back out of the room, none of the others saying anything to her as she departed. Hermione had told her that her habit of randomly joining groups and then leaving was strange, but Luna supposed she had gotten used to it.

Or maybe the other spell just hadn't worn off yet. She supposed it would be hard to speak with someone invisible if one didn't know the invisible person was there.

Moving swiftly through the halls, she emerged outside the Potions laboratory, opening the heavy door with a soft creak. Inside, Viktor was bent over roughly a dozen cauldrons, muttering angrily to himself in Bulgarian as he moved between the different concoctions. A heavy perfume hung in the air and Luna grimaced.

It smelled almost like tombstones.

"Not vis one," Krum was muttering to himself, vanishing the contents of a cauldron with an angry scowl. Luna settled carefully on the top of a nearby work table and began swinging her legs back and forth as she studied the other man.

She'd asked Hermione about him, especially after she had noticed how much time Ginny was spending talking with the man. He'd started with the Auror program right after the TriWizard Tournament, Hermione confided, but resigned after six months, saying the department was far too corrupt. _"He wasn't sure who he was working for,"_ Hermione had explained. Instead, still wanting to help the war efforts, he had found a Potions Master and trained under the man, quickly elevating through the ranks.

Which was remarkably wonderful timing, Luna thought to herself. Especially considering Severus Snape had decided to show his true colors.

Luna was fairly certain if she could see him right then, he'd be surrounded by a haze of a truly awful color.

Krum, however. He was surrounded by a deep, warm garnet, just a touch darker than the color of fresh blood. He and Lupin would complement well.

Decision made, Luna nodded to herself as she slipped down from the table and quietly left the room. She had a few others to check on – she needed to be sure – but she was off to a good start on her second project.

The others could worry about getting the Fortress set up and planning out the war. She had two jobs. Find a creature to act as sentry, and save her friends.

And Luna Lovegood was not going to fail at either one.

 

* * *

 

_Hogwarts Battlements_

 

"Maybe," Ron said with a frown. "But that would leave the east corner uncovered."

"If we do an inverted triangle pattern, though," Theo disagreed, his eyes narrowed as he stared across the battlements, "we would just have to layer it correctly."

Dean nodded as he sketched furiously on his sketch pad. Scratching absently at his ear, the other boy muttered, "It looks like we could delimit it like _this_." He gestured at the sketch, pointing to a couple small intersections he had created, "But you should probably get your brother up here, Ron."

Ron snorted, his mind on his eldest brother. "Better luck getting one of his teammates lately," he said with a sigh. The eldest Weasley son was rather difficult to track down the last couple weeks. No one had seen him but Harry.

"Just as well," Nott shrugged, and Ron glanced at the Slytherin teen.

He didn't want to admit it, but the guy was starting to grow on him. Ever since the rescue mission at the teen's ancestral home, Theo had been… helpful. Helpful, but not pushy. He'd shown up regularly to every DA meeting since Harry had agreed to let him in. He listened, he worked hard, and he even helped some of the younger years that were struggling. He volunteered for extra patrols – and offered to go with Neville, Sue, or Hannah, the people he knew Ron trusted. He offered to help with anything they needed, but always waited for them to accept instead of just trying to force his way in.

Ron was beginning to think the Slytherin was genuine in his change of heart.

 _That's how they get you_ , Moody's gruff voice sounded in the back of his mind. _You can't be betrayed by someone if you don't trust them at least a little, boy._

Ron shook his head to clear it, frowning at the other two as they gazed at him patiently.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Did we miss anything?"

Dean looked back down at his sketch, tracing carefully over all the lines with his wand. As his wand tip moved over the sketchbook, each line glowed, small puffs of colored smoke drifting up from the paper.

"I think this is a solid start," Dean said finally.

 _Start_ , Ron thought. _Halloween is in twenty six days._

"Great," he said instead, grinning. "It's just about dinner time, so let's pack this in for now."

The other two nodded, Theo rolling up the map he'd been studying, Dean tucking his sketchpad into his bag. As they went down the stairs, Ron shot off a Patronus, sighing tiredly.

Getting Hermione to stop working and eat was becoming even more difficult than usual. Even Shack couldn't tear her away from her projects anymore.

But that girl would come down to the Great Hall or by Merlin, he would go get her and _drag_ her there.

Quickly, he ran through everyone in his mind. Harry and Ginny were at the Fortress. Luna was – well, he had no idea, but she _had_ sent him a message saying she was tracking some strange… something. Nev was off with the twins doing recon on the Wyvern again. And Sue had just checked in twenty minutes before; she and Hannah were still with his Mum.

Everyone was accounted for.

Pausing on the main staircase, he waited patiently as Dean and Theo continued on into the Hall. After a few moments, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and Hermione's characteristic annoyed huff. Ron smiled as he heard her mutter something under his breath and Shack's quiet baritone respond.

Without turning around, he held out his arm, and Hermione scoffed but smiled as she tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. Shack nodded to them once before sweeping past them down the stairs. Grinning internally, Ron listened as Hermione chattered about their latest project while he steered her down the stairs and to the Gryffindor table.

Halfway there, a commotion stopped them. Ron sighed wearily as he turned. He supposed it was only fitting – Malfoy had been oddly quiet so far that year.

"You were where you belonged," Malfoy was sneering at Dean, the black Gryffindor standing side by side with Nott. "In the muck with all the other filth. It's too bad someone let you out, Thomas."

Hermione made an odd sound in the back of her throat and Ron felt his ears turn red. Taking a step forward, he drew his wand, and he felt more than saw as Hermione did the same.

 

* * *

 

Nott rolled his eyes as Malfoy hit his stride. Really, six years of listening to the other boy posture was too much. He had always considered the boy a friend – mostly – but listening to him prattle on was…

"I'm sorry you're bored, Draco," he cut in suddenly, before Malfoy's commentary to Dean could become more vicious. "Might I suggest you take up a hobby? Something you'll be better at than insulting others. Your skill in that area is somewhat lacking."

Instantly, Draco spun around, pinning Theo with an angry glare. "Skill?" the other boy sneered. "You bloody poofter. Couldn't wait to throw your lot in with the mudbloods and blood traitors, could you? Is Gryffindor cock _that_ good?"

Off to the side, he saw Hermione stiffen, glaring at Malfoy, and Ron raised an eyebrow.

Nott just laughed. "You're like an angry terrier, you know. Snapping at everyone and everything."

"I should tell your father," Malfoy continued as if he hadn't said a word. "I've kept your secret for years, but he should know that his son is a bloody – "

"Might as well," Theo agreed cheerfully. "He already knows I'm a 'blood traitor' now; maybe it's best to get everything out in the open."

Dean coughed as Ron's eyebrow rose impossibly higher. Hermione was grinning.

Malfoy stepped forward as the Hall fell silent. At the front, McGonagall and Shacklebolt were stepping down from the Head Table.

"I suppose it _is_ that good, hmm?" Malfoy said silkily. "You know, it's too bad my dear Aunt Bella took out Moody. You and that crazy old Auror would have made a lovely – "

Theo heard a shout, then suddenly, he was standing over a prone Malfoy, breathing hard. He shook out his aching hand, wincing slightly as his knuckles began to swell. On the ground, the Malfoy heir was white-faced, blood gushing from his now crooked nose. Behind him, he heard Hermione chuckle, and McGonagall's disapproving tones echoed through the hall.

Taking a steadying breath, Theo looked down at his childhood friend. "Don't speak ill of your betters," he said softly.

And without another word, as the students excitedly whispered, he walked straight up to McGonagall. Behind him, Ron said with a frustrated groan, " _I_ wanted to hit the blighter."

 

* * *

 

_Munroe Flat_

_Manchester, England_

 

Really, it would be so much easier to pack if she could _stop crying_.

Audrey sat on her bed, Midas's head resting on her knee. She combed her fingers through the pittie's short hair, leaning wearily against her headboard as she stared blankly at the wall.

It had been weeks since Percy's brother George had appeared in her flat, telling her stiffly that he had died. She hadn't known what to say – she had only known Percy for a handful of weeks, but the man had saved her life, had been kind to her… truthfully, she'd been starting to feel an attachment. An attraction, even, dulled and muted though it was through the horror of what was happening to her life. When George had spoken, she'd gone numb.

Hands in his pockets, the stocky redhead – really, he looked _nothing_ like Percy – had told her it wasn't safe, that England was going to become dangerous, and she should go if she could. Percy would have wanted her to be safe. He'd left without a goodbye, and Audrey had spent most of her time since then in tears.

She'd had a normal life, once. One with an absent father, dud boyfriends and too many bills, exhausting hours and brunch with friends, dog parks and hiking trips and pub crawls. Not _this_. Not losing _all_ of her patients, soul-sucking monsters, and _zombies_ destroying a government that didn't even _exist_ , killing her –

Her whatever-he-was. Whatever Percy could have been to her.

She reached up and wrapped her fingers around the book pendant at her neck, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. She couldn't explain why she was still _wearing_ the thing – maybe out of respect for Missus Cassandra, maybe because it had saved her _life_ – but she wasn't sure she'd ever take it off. She opened her eyes and stared suspiciously around the room, waiting to see a cloaked demon appear, a zombie burst through the door –

But nothing. She was alone.

She shoved her hands in her hair and nodded to herself. Time to stop stalling. She could hide in there forever, or she could go.

So she got to her feet, threw about a dozen changes of clothes in a suitcase, grabbed the couple little mementos she couldn't bear to lose, and snapped her fingers. Midas trotted along dutifully behind her, and she gathered up a few of his favorite toys, his lead, his food and dishes, and his doggy bed. Ten minutes later, they walked out of her flat, and Audrey Munroe headed straight for the airport.

England could _rot_ for all she cared.

But sitting in the driver's seat, she frowned. People were in danger… and she knew why. Could she really just _leave_?

Her daddy had taught her better than that.

With a shaking hand, Audrey brushed her hair back from her eyes and nodded to herself. Mind made up, she smiled over at Midas.

"We're going to see the Colonel, Midas," she murmured, and the pittie wagged his tail excitedly.

Shifting into drive, Audrey turned the car in the direction of her father's base.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere in the Rocky Mountains_

_Colorado, United States_

 

"Well, fuck, Arthur, it's not my fault every damn tree looks the same!" Rufus growled, his tawny eyes narrowed as they peered around the summit.

Arthur frowned, shoving his thinning hair back. "It was somewhere near here. I can feel it."

"Yeah?" the other man replied. "You going to tell me what 'it' _is_ , yet?"

Arthur ignored him. Rufus sighed tiredly.

It had been a bloody long day, taking an International Portkey then making four – no, _five_ – bloody Apparition jumps before they had arrived back in the spot where Arthur had stashed _whatever_ the fuck dangerous artifact he had. Why the fuck he wanted it _back_ all of a sudden, Rufus had no idea. Hadn't Arthur told him to go get it only if he _died_?

"This way," the Weasley patriarch said suddenly, veering off down a narrow pathway to their right.

Rufus gritted his teeth and followed. _Bloody. Fucking. WEASLEYS._

 

* * *

 

_Hogwarts Grounds_

 

Molly sighed tiredly as she walked through the gates, moving slowly up the pathways towards the school. It had been a long day. Sweet little Emily just hadn't wanted to _settle_ the night before – Merlin knew, Molly loved children and had more than her fair share of practice, but it had been a long time since she had stayed up all night with a crying baby.

And then at dinner, overtired and overwrought, she had set off her only baby girl. Again.

Sometimes, she wished she could have Arthur's easygoing approach. His relationship with their children seemed almost effortless sometimes. Being the 'tough' parent was just not a fun job.

But she owed Ginny an apology. She had pushed her little girl too hard. How was Ginny to know, to understand how incredibly _proud_ of her Molly was, if all she did was complain about how she behaved?

Molly let out another tired sigh, brushing her hair back from her eyes.

She'd lost both her brothers at once. She'd lost Percy, twice. She had spent the better part of twenty five years worrying that Arthur was going to get himself killed, with his clandestine job that he thought she knew nothing about. She'd spent the last nine years terrified that her eldest son was going to get himself trapped in a pyramid. Or kidnapped by tribals. To say nothing of the antics of her youngest. 

Was it so wrong to want her family to be _safe_?

With a snort and a shake of her head, Molly set her jaw and smoothed her expression. No, it wasn't. But taking her fear out on her family _was_ wrong.

Constantly comparing her brilliant, strong, fiery daughter to more meek girls was wrong.

Although Hannah, the sweet dear, she _was_ a lovely girl, wasn't she? And it seemed that her Ron was spending a fair bit of time with Hannah, lately. Maybe she could encourage…

She shook her head again, huffing. No. The children could make their own decisions.

Slipping through a side door in the castle, she made her way steadily up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

_Hogwarts Grounds_

 

"What I wouldn't give for a cuppa right now," Tonks muttered tiredly, rubbing her hand through her spiky pink hair.

Charlie snorted good-naturedly, reaching into his robes and pulling out a flask. He uncapped the tin and handed it to Tonks, and she laughed as she took a sip. "Okay," Charlie said evenly. "So so far, we've found that Vablatsky gave Riddle a part-time job when he was just out of Hogwarts."

"And fired him for stealing," Tonks finished. She spun on her heel, walking backwards up the path. _Why_ Charlie felt the need to watch her like a hawk, she didn't understand. It wasn't like she tripped every time she took a step.

She promptly tripped over a root and fell to her bum.

"So maybe something he stole, she got back?" Charlie mused aloud, holding out a hand to pull her to her feet. "And he needs it, or didn't realize he'd lost it…"

"Why wait so long, though?" Tonks questioned with a scowl as she brushed herself off. "That was decades ago."

"Right," Charlie muttered. "It would have to be about something more recent, wouldn't it."

"Maybe it's something he can use as a weapon?"

"Maybe it's an ostrich. Or a robe. Or a bloody _book_ ," Charlie shot back. "We have to find out more or we won't have any way to narrow it down."

Tonks sighed. "Maybe it's not important," she said with a frustrated groan.

"Harry thinks it is. Bill thinks it is. Dad thinks it is."

Tonks grumbled under her breath, taking another draw from the flask.

"Maybe," she started.

And a scream echoed across the grounds, and Tonks spun around and stared at the school.

 

* * *

 

_*Astronomy Tower_

_Hogwarts_

 

Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, gazing out over the grounds. Her eyes nearly burned and she blinked rapidly.

Maybe she _should_ try those eye drops Hermione had told her about.

Merlin, she hoped she would be able to sleep that night.

Something about knowing a battle was only weeks away was rattling her. Oh, Hannah wasn't a fighter and never would be. She would always try to defend her friends and family, but at her core, she was a caretaker. Not a warrior. Not like Sue.

Not like…

She shook her head, rubbing one hand tiredly over her still-burning eyes. Best not to dwell on that. He was probably just being friendly, all those times they wandered around the lake when neither could sleep. Why would he look twice at _her_ , after all, with witches like Hermione and Sue around?

And _that_ stung.

Hannah let out another sigh and leaned against the outer wall, her eyes fixed on the forest. She wondered if anyone had thought to check on the unicorn herd there. After what had happened in Ottery St. Catchpole…

"And what are you doing, up here all alone?"

She stiffened, closing her eyes momentarily. _Cormac_. Just what she needed to improve her mood. Turning to face the Gryffindor teen, she set her face in a friendly but distant expression. "Hello," she said quietly. "Nice night, isn't it?"

The boy ignored her, eyes fixed on her face. Hannah swallowed nervously when she saw the look on his face. There was something in his eyes – a sort of malicious glee – that had her taking a step back. "Didn't you know, it's not safe for little witches to wander alone at night?" he whispered. He moved forward a step, and Hannah backed up again. "You'll give a man all sorts of ideas."

 _No_ , Hannah thought, balling her hands into fists. _Not again_.

"It's almost like you're begging for it," the Gryffindor boy continued, a sickly smile appearing on his face. Hannah choked back a sob as he moved forward again, and she took another step back.

Her back hit the outer wall of the tower, and she closed her eyes.

"All alone," McClaggen whispered, "just waiting for me." She felt a shadow move over her and opened her eyes to see the boy standing right in front of her. As she watched, he reached out and twisted a section of her hair around his fingers, staring at her. Hannah froze, her mind racing.

 _Come on, girl,_ she thought angrily at herself. _You escaped_ _ **Death Eaters**_ _! You can do this…._

"My uncle always told me this was the best part," McClaggen muttered, still twirling her hair around his fingers. "Making you _want_ it."

And as Hannah choked back another sob, he tightened his fist around her hair and _pulled_. She screamed, tears running down her face, and struggled to jerk free as her scalp burned. His other hand clamped around her wrist and squeezed, and Hannah gasped as her hand was forced open. Her wand clattered to the ground and suddenly he was everywhere – her vision blurred as she heard her robes tearing, felt his clammy hands on her skin. She swung wildly with her legs, trying to kick at him, but he just pinned her to the wall with one arm. Hannah sobbed.

"I'll get the others later," he was saying as she heard the clink of metal. "The uppity Mudblood bitch, Potter's little loon, and the Weasley girl – mmm." She heard him lick his lips and gagged as he clamped his fingers around her jaw, forcing her head back. "But you – "

Reaching his hand down, he jerked her trousers from her hips. "You're something, aren't - "

A sudden blast of cold air slammed Hannah back against the wall, and she screamed again as she fell to the ground. Several strands of hair tore from her scalp and she winced as the boy was jerked back. Spinning around, she stared as McClaggen screamed, a second blast sending him spiraling into the air.

And there, in the doorway, stood Molly Weasley, her kindly face twisted with hate.

"Not my girls, you little bitch," she spat.

The boy looked at her wildly, his eyes burning – and suddenly, he was falling. Hannah closed her eyes as a resounding _thud_ echoed across the grounds, swallowing back bile. The tears started to fall in earnest and she flinched as Molly stepped forward, pulling off her outer robes. The Weasley matriarch tucked her robes around Hannah and pulled the girl to her feet, whispering softly to her. Behind them, the door banged open, and Hannah jumped, whimpering, as Molly rubbed her back.

Tonks and Ginny stared, Tonks immediately going to the ledge to look down at the grounds.

As Hannah struggled to catch her breath, Molly Weasley met Ginny's eyes and gave her daughter a grim smile.

 

* * *

 

_Murray Household_

_London, England_

 

The bottle was bloody empty again.

Mike cursed as he tossed the empty whiskey bottle in the bin, shoving his hands into his hair. He scowled, staring blankly at his car as he sat in his garage.

Well, it hadn't moved on it's own again since…. That night on the bridge.

He closed his eyes, the memory flooding his mind. Annie, grumbling under her breath that he'd had too much at dinner. The twins, screaming in the backseat. Standstill traffic on the bridge.

And that man – the huge, buff black guy, standing on the bridge like a sentry, just watching. Jumping forward suddenly and slamming something down on the roof of the car. That sickly feeling like a hook behind his navel and then the world _spun_ ….

He'd seen the news _after_. After they had landed roughly in a back alley, his wife and kids screaming in terror. After he had stopped shaking and driven them home. The bridge had collapsed, and everyone else on the bridge that night was dead.

That man had saved their lives. But _how_?

He shook his head, running a shaking hand through his hair again. Christ, he should just go back to New York.

The weeks since that night had been stressful, to say the least. His bum leg was aching again, and the other one – well, he hadn't had phantom pains in years, but Christ, was he feeling them now. The business in Kent, Surrey, Manchester, it was all _wild_ , all inexplicable…

Just like what had happened to his family.

Something was very, very wrong.

He sighed again, shoving to his feet. His left leg buckled slightly under his weight and he swore angrily, muttering to himself as he waited for the feeling to pass. The clink of metal sounded as he moved towards the house.

The Army might have put him on leave, but he had a feeling it would be all hands on deck soon enough.

Time to go see the Colonel.

"Annie!" he shouted as he moved into the house. "Pack a bag and take the kids to Gloria's!"

 

* * *

 

_Minister's Manor_

_London, England_

_October 6, 1996_

 

Croaker sighed as he sat slowly in the plush armchair, his eyes narrowed as he stared around the room. It was a ridiculous hour for a summons, just gone three o'clock. Across the table, Tiberius sat fuming, his shoulders stiff and his eyes burning. Theresa Edgecombe was leaning into the man's side, rubbing a hand up and down his back and speaking to him softly. Now and then, a muscle would tick in McClaggen's jaw. Further down the table, Mafalda and Dirk were gazing at him with undisguised worry. The pair shared a look of concern and Creswell shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face.

Amos sat stockstill, glaring at McClaggen. _That's right,_ Croaker thought to himself. _His son was friends with the Abbott girl_.

News of the events at Hogwarts the evening before had spread like… well, like Fiendfyre. He'd been sitting in this room not five hours before, listening to Fudge rave about the Weasley family. Molly Weasley had acted as judge, jury, and executioner, he had vented, " _which just proves!"_ the emotional man had exclaimed.

Thicknesse has just nodded sympathetically the whole time. McClaggen had spat out a demand for Molly Weasley's blood. Edgecombe had suggested arresting her immediately.

It was Diggory who had scoffed at that, and the table turned to glare at him. "She's already on your Most Wanted list," the man had pointed out, a slight undertone of glee in his voice. "And you can't find her _now_."

 _Oh, Amos,_ Croaker thought to himself, eyeing the other man at the end of the table. _An actor, you are not, my friend._

The door slammed open and Croaker let out a sigh of relief. He was getting too old for these early mornings.

But… wait.

His eyes narrowed, and Croaker sat up straighter as he watched Thicknesse sweep into the room, sitting in Fudge's normal chair at the head of the table. Down the other end of the room, Cresswell and Diggory exchanged a worried look, and Croaker just braved himself.

He knew a coup when he saw one, after all. He'd helped to orchestrate his fair share.

"There is no easy way to say this," Thicknesse said softly, his voice oozing the fake sorrow that Edgecombe seemed to eat up. "Minister Fudge is dead."

Theresa gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. Hopkirk and Cresswell stiffened, and Diggory just stared.

"Trace evidence at the scene," Thicknesse continued, "has given us our culprit."

"Who?" McClaggen demanded roughly, and Thicknesse sent him a sad smile.

"Amelia Bones."

 _Ah, yes_ , Croaker thought. _I wondered when they would get around to dealing with her._

A murmur of shock went around the table. As he watched, Cresswell sat up straighter, and Diggory leaned back in his chair slightly.

"We must determine what to do about the Minister position," Thicknesse said, and the others all stared.

"Might I make a suggestion?" a drawling voice sounded from the doorway, and Croaker looked up to see Lucius Malfoy framed in the firelight, Nott Sr and Rookwood to either side.

 

* * *

 

_Florence, Italy_

_June 18, 1996_

_(Fifteen weeks ago)_

 

The murmurs woke him.

Bill's eyes shot open and he sat up slowly, wand already in his hand. He glanced at the cots to his left and right, eyes narrowed against the darkness. No, Lou and Deacon were both asleep. Shaking his head, he pushed to his feet, moving towards the doorway.

They had been on site for only three weeks so far, and it was already his least favorite job to date. Bill didn't scare easily – one couldn't do his job and be frightful – but there was something undeniably _creepy_ about the site they were working.

But they had been going through tunnels for weeks, and so far – nothing. So _much_ nothing, as a matter of fact, that they had started setting up camp inside the site, which was not the normal practice.

Louis had started grumbling the week before, and hadn't stopped since. Bill understood, wearying though it was to listen to. Ten percent of _nothing_ made for a weak paycheck, after all.

But both Dumbledore and the goblins insisted that _something_ was there. The goblins just wanted treasure. Dumbledore – well, Bill was pretty sure Dumbledore wanted whatever was making Bill's skin crawl every single waking moment.

For a few minutes, he stood in the doorway, motionless, listening carefully. But… nothing. _Still_ , he thought with a sigh, and turned to go back to sleep.

 _You don't belong here_.

Bill froze midstep, his hand tightening around his wand. Spinning on his heel, he strode back into the hallway, wand raised and eyes narrowed against the darkness. Across the tunnel, the torches flared to life, then died in a nonexistent breeze.

 _Game time, I suppose_ , he thought with a smirk.

Quiet footfalls sounded to his right, and he turned slightly to see Lexi and Jess coming out of the next alcove. "Did you hear that?" Jess whispered, her face white. Lex just frowned, her eyes scanning up and down the tunnel.

Bill nodded curtly, glancing back over his shoulder. Behind him, Lou had stirred, and the grouchy Frenchman let out a groan when he saw the way they were standing. Grumbling to himself, the smaller man stood, wand at the ready.

"Should we wake Deke?" Lex murmured, but Bill shook his head.

"Why don't you stay here, keep guard," he whispered back. There was a strange feeling gathering in the air, almost like ozone. "If something is here, we _don't_ want it blocking our way out."

The girl nodded, her long purple hair swinging slightly, and stepped back to stand a few feet down the corridor, back towards the entrance.

"Come on," Bill muttered to the other two.

"We should get the rest of the team," Lou hissed, and Bill frowned at him.

"We don't even know if there's anything yet," he argued. "We'll summon them if there's a reason."

Sure, it was a breach of protocol, but… how many times, already, had they called the team for nothing? _Somebody_ should get some sleep, he thought with a scowl.

Behind him, Deacon let out a loud snore.

Jess and Lou were looking at him strangely, but suddenly, Jess shrugged, grinning. "Lead on, Indiana," she said teasingly, and Bill shot her a glare.

Turning to the left, he set off down the tunnels. With the ease of years of practice, Jess fell into lockstep just to his left, Lou to his right. The Frenchman was watching their retreat, holding a small shield over them as Bill and Jess swept the tunnels for traps.

It was a trek of over an hour, but finally, they reached the end of the area they had explored. Bill found himself looking at a cave-in, a giant boulder blocking the tunnels. He glanced at the other two and saw Jess frowning, her eyes fixed to the obstacle.

 _You don't belong here_ echoed through the tunnels again, and Bill's eyes narrowed.

It was louder.

"Here," he said sharply, and Lou stepped forward, casting detection spells on the boulder. After a moment, he scowled and nodded, and Jess blasted the rock away.

The smell of ozone, the heaviness to the air, grew as Bill and his teammates stared through the opening. Behind the boulder was a small chamber, looking almost like a little ceremony room. There was a sundial in the center, a circle of stones arrayed around it, and in the furthest corner, a huge chest.

And a lot of dust.

" _Merci_ ," Lou muttered, his eyes alighting on the chest, and Jess snorted. Bill just shook his head, eyes fixed on the opening across the way.

He moved through the chamber without pause, Jess and Lou hurrying after him. When he reached the opposite doorway he stopped, eyes closed, and lifted one hand to the surface. Whispering under his breath, he carefully dismantled the small little traps that lay on the other side.

Javelins through the chest weren't anyone's idea of a good time, after all.

"We should call the team now," Jess said quietly. "That's the first actual trap we've found; there must be something – "

 _You can't steal this secret_.

Bill grinned, his ponytail swinging in an invisible wind. "Come on," he said calmly, and he stepped through the doorway. Behind him, Lou groaned, and Jess let out a long-suffering sigh.

Well… there was a reason they called him 'The Maverick', wasn't there?

Then the door swung shut behind them, and Bill swore under his breath.

 _This is why you should always listen to Jess_ , he thought darkly. His hand clenched around his wand as he drew up a repelling ward, and all around them, skeletons wrenched themselves out of the dirt walls. He heard Lou shout as he blasted a skeleton to pieces, Jess yelp as she shook off a small, dog-like creature that was trying to tear at her leg…

Then suddenly, the skeletons cascaded to the ground in a rattling pile of bones.

Bill stared down the corridor as the other two caught their breath, his eyes narrowed on a glimmer of blue light.

"Bill - " Jess said warningly, but Bill shook his head, moving steadily down the corridor. Behind him, he heard the other two swear and follow after him.

He moved through one ceremony room, then another, then another. Nothing attacked them again, and the tingling sensation grew stronger with every step. The air was so heavy that it almost felt solid on his skin, the darkness tinged with a strange, electric blue.

"We should really – " Lou started.

Bill stepped through another opening and suddenly, the sound of stone scraping on stone echoed through the chamber. He spun to see a door sliding shut and Jess shouted, jumping through the opening. A few strands of her hair caught in the doorway as it closed _just_ behind her, so close that it ripped the back of her shirt, and Bill's heart thudded in his chest as he stared at the closed doorway. On the other side, he could hear Lou grumbling.

 _Smart, Weasley,_ he thought derisively at himself. _Real smart._

"What _is_ this?" Jess whispered, her eyes scanning the walls. Bill turned from the doorway and looked around them, swallowing roughly as he took in their surroundings.

They stood in a huge, cavernous space, lit by the unnatural blue glow. The walls around them were crusted with blue crystals, the floor a smooth marble. In the center of the room stood a huge platform with a pedestal in the center, and on the pedestal…

Bill's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the huge stone. It was completely transparent, tinged with blue, with little bolts of lightning shooting through it. As he watched, a small bolt shot from the stone and disappeared towards the ceiling.

Jess hissed under her breath as she watched, and Bill nodded absently. That _had_ to be something important.

"Lou!" Jess shouted suddenly, as Bill stood there, transfixed.

"I'm working on it!" the Frenchman snarled, and Bill stepped forward.

"Bill, don't – "

He didn't remember moving, but somehow, he was standing on the platform. With a few waves of his wand, he cast some quick detection charms, then nodded to himself. He spun around quickly, casting a strong ward and shield around Jess, then immediately turned his back on his best friend.

Sure, he'd play Russian roulette with his own life… but no way in hell was he risking _hers_.

 _You can't steal this secret_ echoed through the chamber again as he reached out. Holding his breath, Bill wrapped his hand around the stone, and lifted it from the pedestal.

Immediately, his mind flooded with images. Diagon Alley in flames. Dementors roaming the streets. A town, flooded and teeming with merfolk, their spears covered in blood. The images came faster, Ron and Ginny's faces coated in grime and tears, Harry and Hermione covered in blood, Charlie lying still, his mother sobbing – a desolate field, a graveyard….

The images came faster and he fell to his knees, grunting as a strange bolt of electricity shot from the stone into his hand. It seemed to run through his bloodstream and he felt a terrible burning sensation, blue light flashing behind his eyelids. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back to his feet and struggled to uncurl his fingers from the stone.

But he couldn't let go.

 _Do you see, now, wizard?_ a chilling voice whispered. _Do you see what is to come?_

Bill swallowed, his eyes stinging. The smell of burning flesh hit him and he bit back a swear as he felt his hands blistering, the heat racing up and down his veins. Small bolts of electricity began to form around him, on him, and started shooting around the chamber. Behind him, he heard Jessica sob.

 _I can give you the power_ , the voice whispered, _the tools to aid in the fight. You need only pay the price._

Bill forced his eyes open and suddenly, the chamber was gone. He stood in a graveyard, the headstones stretching on as far as the eye could see.

On every headstone, a familiar name was etched, and he felt a deep, chilling misery begin to build.

 _You must decide, wizard,_ the voice continued. _Do you wish to play with buried treasure forever? Or do you wish to help the ones you love?_

 _Yes_ , Bill thought suddenly, his mother's tears face swimming in front of his eyes.

"Bill!" Jess shouted, her voice breaking through the haze. Bill shook his head wildly. The electricity was sparking still, the bolts of lightning arcing around the room and bouncing off the crystals in the walls. The floor shook violently and the sound of scraping stone echoed around them.

 _You accept?_ it hissed.

Bill swallowed. He didn't know what the thing was, or what it was asking.

But compared to what he had just seen, did it matter? If there was even a _chance_ that anything he'd just seen was true…

"Bill, please," Jess sobbed. A bolt of lightning shot from the pedestal and collided with the crystals behind her, and she shrieked as the lightning passed just a hairsbreadth over her head.

 _I accept_ , Bill thought at the voice.

Suddenly, the lightning vanished, and Bill gasped as the stone clattered from his hand. He looked down at his fingers, curled in on themselves and already covered in blisters, and winced as he struggled to straighten them.

He looked over at Jessica, hair swinging wildly, and swallowed.

"Did you see that? And the voice…" He swallowed again, his hands shaking. Everything was still tinged with a slight blue, and the color was fading from the room around him, almost like a running watercolor.

Jess was staring at him, her eyes wide and her pretty face pale. "Bill, I didn't see or hear a thing but – " She stared at his hands, a terrible look of grief on her face. "That _lightning,_ I thought it was going to _fry_ you…." Tears slid down her face.

Bill swallowed again, feeling like a cad. "I'm sorry," he said shakily. Jess just shook her head, pressing her hands to her face.

"Alright in there?" Lou's voice sounded through the stone door. "What happened?"

"We're okay!" Jess called back, her voice thick with tears. "Just – "

Bill stepped down from the platform, moving stiffly, and grunted as he felt another spark of electricity run up his back. Around him, the air seemed to grow heavy again, and he froze.

Dust was rising up from the floor, floating toward the ceiling. As it moved, it turned a soft, ethereal blue.

 _This isn't over_ , Bill thought frantically. "Jess," he called, and his best friend looked at him from behind her shield.

Suddenly, his father's voice sounded in his mind.

 _Never trust anything that can think for itself,_ the memory of his father's voice echoed, _if you can't see where it keeps its brain._

A bolt of lightning shot down from the ceiling, thick as a tree trunk, and a terrible laugh echoed around them. _Time to pay the price, wizard,_ the voice said chillingly. _You can't steal this secret_.

And with sudden, terrible clarity, Bill knew.

"Jess!" he shouted, jumping towards the girl, but something blasted him back, and he landed in a heap against the pedestal. He struggled to stand as a cage of lightning appeared around him and the giant bolt struck.

Jessica screamed as the lightning shot through her, burning flesh melting from her face. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her limbs shaking, and she slid to the ground, static making her burned hair stand on edge. Bill screamed as he stared at her, and a blue forcefield erupted from his skin. He struggled to his feet and shook as the bolts raced over his skin, as the voice continued to echo in his mind.

Through his dimming vision, he saw the door explode in a shower of stone. Alex and Lou raced into the room, Lou crouching next to Jessica and Lex running to his side.

"I'm sorry, Bill," Lexi murmured, turning her wand on him, and everything went dark.

_You can't steal this secret._

* * *

 

A/N: I’m sorry for the trauma I put you through when I write after watching Criminal Minds. 

In all seriousness, we are well past the halfway mark for book one. Brace yourselves!  ~*~ALIBI


	17. The Dying Light

_Tonks’ Flat_

_London, England_

_October 11, 1996_

Dora sighed as she moved slowly up the steps, her boots clunking with every step.  The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon and her eyes were burning, her eyelids feeling like they weighed a ton each.

The all-nighters were really starting to wear her down. Honestly, she wasn’t old _yet_ , what was the deal?

But it had been worth it.

It had taken weeks to get the job done. Hour upon painstaking hour, slipping away whenever her duties for the Order were completed, but she’d finally gotten the last one.  From the black market dealer who had sold Bellatrix the cursed knives, to the spellcrafter who had helped her with the enchantments – everyone who had a hand in helping Bellatrix kill her parents was dead. Tonks had single-handedly eliminated each one.

Except Snape. And Bellatrix herself.

 _Taking out Aunt Bella wasn’t worth losing you, Mad-Eye_ , she thought tiredly.

But she would have thought she would _feel_ better, knowing they were all gone. That she’d feel _something._

 _Maybe the Black family madness is finally setting in,_ she scoffed.

With another tired sigh and a slow roll of her shoulders, she shoved her door open and immediately froze in the doorway. There, on her couch, was her favorite sight. His shabby overcoat was thrown over the arm of the sofa, a cigar between his teeth as he leaned over a giant book, eyes narrowed in the dim light from her table lamp. A fire crackled in the hearth, the logs hissing and spitting as sparks flew.

She stood there, her weariness erased, and watched him with a soft smile as he muttered to himself. He looked exhausted, the poor thing, the ever-present lines on his face just a tiny bit deeper, the shadows under his eyes darker.

And that thrice-damned nail was lying on the table beside the musty old tome.

She closed the door behind herself with a quiet click, leaning back against the door and just gazing at him. The man in question looked up, startled by the sound.  An embarrassed flush spread across his face, and Tonks watched with amusement as the man began to stammer.

Christ, he was adorable when he was surprised.

“Dora!” Remus said nervously. “I - I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind – I didn’t,” he trailed off, his eyes shadowed as he watched her in the doorway. The lycanthrope swallowed reflexively, his hand going up to fiddle with his collar as she stood there.

And he was usually so eloquent, Tonks thought with an inner smirk. “It’s fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. For a moment, she paused. She didn’t want to push too far – it seemed the only thing she was good at anymore was scaring him off – but at the same time, she couldn’t help herself. Bouncing across the room cheerily, she flung herself down on the couch beside him and leaned over his arm under pretense of checking out the book.  “What were you doing?” she asked.

Remus flushed deeper, shifting anxiously beside her. With a shaky hand, he crushed out his cigar in an ashtray and gazed down at the tabletop. “I just – I needed somewhere quiet to research,” he said quietly, and Tonks’ playful mood evaporated. Leaning back slightly, she looked up at the older man. He looked away, his eyes tracing over the cutesy little posters on her wall.

 _Your cabin is plenty quiet_ , she thought sadly. “Did they find it?”

A muscle ticked in Lupin’s jaw as he continued to stare steadily at the wall. Silently, he nodded, and Tonks’ heart broke for him.  The cabin was the last thing he had from his mother, she knew, and she was afraid to ask what had happened.

“Arthur said I should stay with him and Molly at your folks’ cottage,” the wizard said slowly, “but – ” He trailed off as Tonks stared at him.

“Absolutely not,” she shot back immediately, and his flush disappeared, his face going pale.

“Dora,” the older man practically croaked, “I would never damage – ”

“Oh, will you _stop_ that?” Tonks shot back. “Honestly, Remus, the only wolfish traits you have, I rather _like.”_ She but back a grin as the man finally glanced her way, a look in his eyes that was half amusement, half shock – and a little glimmer of what looked like challenge underneath. “No, you’ll stay here.”

“I couldn’t,” he muttered. “That wouldn’t be… proper.”

“Hang proper,” Tonks scoffed, scowling at the man. He had shifted back on the couch again, trying to put some space between them.

They were both exhausted. The past year had been hell for both of them. Tonks had been out all night, was still reeling, she _knew_ that. Her decision-making skills when it came to this man were poor at the best of times. And Lupin - he’d lost so much.

She should back down. Let the man have some space.

She shifted closer.

“Proper doesn’t matter anymore, Lupin,” she said softly, reaching out and turning him to face her. The man sat stiffly beside her, his lips pressed in a thin line. “The world is falling apart a little more every day, and all we do is fight.” She raised her hand, carding her fingers through his hair, and felt a thrill run through her when he closed his eyes. “Maybe we should try something new,” she whispered.

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. This was the part where he ran. Where he leaned back, pulled away, put distance between them. Told her she was too young, he was too much of a burden, an old man, a monster.

His eyes opened slowly and he stared at her, his usual soft brown eyes tinged with a touch more amber than normal. Tonks sat perfectly still, forcing herself to meet his gaze, to _not_ bite her lip, _not_ back down.

And then he reached out and pulled her up against him, and Tonks bit back a victorious smirk.

 

* * *

 

_The Fortress_

_Hirta Island, St. Kilna_

_Outer Hebrides, Scotland_

_October 14, 1996_

“This should just about do it,” Deacon grunted, tapping the final crystal with his wand. The Aussie stepped back with a nod, arms crossed across his chest as he watched the crystal begin to glow.

Standing beside Harry, Bill said nothing, his face set in a blank mask. Harry glanced at his guardian worriedly before turning his attention back to the crystals. The one nearest Deacon was vibrating madly, and as Harry watched, a jet of blood red light shot up from the crystal towards the sky. It sparked in the air, looking almost like a firework, then shot off to their left, another jet of light flying up from the next crystal.

Ten minutes later, Harry’s vision was swimming with red spots. Deacon and Lexi breathed a sigh of relief as the wards settled back down to the earth.

“That was the last one, yeah?” Lexi murmured, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. She swung her long purple hair back over her shoulder and frowned, narrowing her eyes through the strange binoculars she held.

“Should be,” Deacon agreed mildly. Glancing back at Harry and Bill, the scarred man continued, “Right, Bill?”

Bill just looked at the man and nodded, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Harry sighed, shaking his head as the other two exchanged a worried look. His guardian was becoming more and more serious and quiet every day. He wasn’t sure what he could do to…

Harry shook his head again, and turned back towards the Fortress himself. He’d keep an eye on Bill, but

Stopping in the doorway, he looked around at the chaos surrounding him.

But he had plenty of other things to worry about. With a quick step back, he dodged the small bed that was flying through the entryway, a set of blankets and pillows soaring along behind it.

“Sorry, mate!” Seamus yelled, hastening after the bed and into the next hallway. On his heels was Dean, rolling his eyes and shooting Harry a ‘save me’ look. Harry grinned lightly, his eyes scanning over the entryway.

The flurry of activity hadn’t died down for days. Ever since they had decided to get the Fortress ready for an evacuation – and turn it into an Order base – there had been at least a dozen people on the premises at all times. Between his own inner DA members, the Order’s Inner Circle, Bill’s teams, and the strange, mostly stoic people Mr. Weasley had brought in, Harry had never seen so many people working together. Throughout the building, people scurried around, rushing to do his bidding.

They had set up about twenty dorm rooms so far, with space for another twenty still remaining. There were corridors that housed small apartments and barrack-like rooms – and that wasn’t even counting the bottom two floors.

Not that it was going to be enough.

 _For neither can live while the other survives_ , Trelawney’s foreboding voice echoed in his mind.

The number of people depending on him was growing by the day. And Merlin… Reaching into his pocket, he drew out the small rune charm he carried, turning it over and over in his hands as he stood there.

 _I’m only sixteen years old,_ he thought quietly.   _How is this my life?_

The sound of footfalls behind him cut through his musings, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Dumbledore walking into the Fortress. The elderly Headmaster smiled at him gently, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. A heavy silence fell over them and Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he waited. Surely Dumbledore would have _something_  to say – this was the first time Bill had actually allowed him on the premises, after all.

“You have accomplished a great deal in a short time, Harry,” Dumbledore said finally. “You should be very proud.”

Harry scowled, the faces of his parents, Cedric, Sirius, the Patil twins and Lavender – hell, even Percy – flashing through his mind. “It’s not enough.”

The Headmaster patted his shoulder with one gnarled hand. “I think you will find that it is.”

Shaking his head, Harry moved off into the Fortress, hearing Dumbledore let out a sad sigh behind him. Without looking back, he slipped through corridors and down narrow, shadowed staircases, finally coming out into the second-lowest level of the Fortress.  He chuckled to himself as he walked into their meeting room – ‘Command Center,’ as Ron was calling it – and saw his best friends bent over a map, arguing quietly.

Some things never changed.

 “Anything new?” Harry asked, and Ron and Hermione looked up, Ron’s ears flushed. He scowled as the brunette girl shook her head. Behind them, a wireless radio crackled on a tabletop.

“The new wards are showing on the map just fine,” Hermione said anxiously, biting her lip. “But still… I can get dots for everyone, but no names.”

“And that’s _if_ this is showing everybody,” Ron muttered darkly. “It’s not like we’ve taken a head count.”

“There’s a solution,” Bill murmured, his eyes narrowed as he glanced over his shoulder from the corner. The cursebreaker was already pulling books off the shelves nearest him, rifling through pages. “We just have to keep looking.”

A sudden shrieking sound echoed from the wireless, and Harry and Ron winced, the redhead clapping his hands over his ears. “Bloody hell, Hermione, won’t you turn that thing _off_?” he grumbled, scowling.

“Oh, no,” Hermione whispered, and Harry stared at her.  The girl had gone pale, her eyes wide and startled. She fiddled with the dial, her hands shaking slightly, and stepped back, gazing worriedly at the wireless as she bit her lip.

 _Alright, Hermione_ , Harry thought, _what the bloody hell?_

In the corner, Bill had turned slightly, and Arthur came running into the room, Ginny and Krum at his heels. “What - ?” Harry started, but a sharp, startled voice cut through the air.

“ _We interrupt your regular programming for breaking news,”_ the voice of an announcer sounded. _“The terrorist organization known as the Death Eaters has come forward to claim responsibility for the latest attacks in the Cotswolds. Spokesperson Lucius Malloy has_ _informed us that there will be a similar attack every week until our military leaders surrender control to their organization. The group still refuses to explain **how** they are performing these horrible acts, or what their mission truly is.”_

Harry stared as everyone in the room froze, and another voice sounded.

“ _Colonel Monroe of Her Majesty’s Royal Armed Forces has released the following statement: ‘We advise all non-essential personnel to remain in their homes and off the streets until we have been able to determine the extent of the threat. All individuals exhibiting strange behavior or gifts are to be treated with extreme caution. Do not invite any strangers into your home. Go nowhere alone, especially after dark. And do not accept anything handed to you by a stranger.’”_

 _“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,”_ the first voice muttered, and Ron snorted. “ _Well, folks, there you have it. Something strange is definitely going on here. Stay safe, everyone.”_

A heavy silence echoed over the room as they all stared at the wireless.  After a moment, Arthur moved forward, squeezing Hermione’s shoulder as he reached past her and turned off the radio.

“They know,” Hermione whispered. “That Colonel, he knows somehow. We’re exposed.”

“Munroe was Audrey’s last name,” Ginny said with a scowl. She shot a meaningful glance at her brother and Harry looked back and forth between them in confusion.

“The girl Percy saved from Manchester,” Ron explained, his scowl growing deeper.

“So,” Ginny continued. She glanced around the room, taking in the somber air of the others. “Now what?”

Harry sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.  He shot a look at Bill then shrugged.

“They were always going to find out,” Bill said simply, his face still set in a blank mask. “We weren’t able to get things contained before big attacks happened, so….” The cursebreaker shook his head, turning back to his books without another word.

“My concern is that Malfoy and Voldemort are communicating with the Muggle public now,” Mr. Weasley put in. “They never did that in the first war. That is… bold.”

“Plans must be proceeding apace,” another voice sounded, and Harry glanced back to see Dumbledore in the doorway, his normally serene features harsh and foreboding. “We must do the same.”

Biting back a retort, Harry glanced over at the corner. Bill’s shoulders had stiffened, his back rigid, but his guardian didn’t turn back to the group.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “are you ready for our outing?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied, sliding the rune charm back into his pocket. He shot Ron and Hermione a comforting grin – though judging by Hermione’s expression, it wasn’t all that comforting – and turned to leave the room.

“Dad,” Bill said sharply, and Arthur Weasley nodded. Glancing back at the two, Harry saw them exchange a look before Arthur turned back to Dumbledore, smiling softly.

“I’ll be coming along, Albus,” the Weasley patriarch said simply. As Harry stood there awkwardly, Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, then sighed, looking over at Bill’s stiff back.  After a moment’s silence, he nodded, turning on his heel to lead the way out of the room.

Harry was bloody exhausted, and they hadn’t even _made_ it to see the evil megalomaniac yet.

 

* * *

 

_Chelsea, South London_

_England_

“Nothing,” Shack muttered darkly, glaring around the airy little brownstone. “Not a trace.” He scowled at a cheerful little painting on the wall, grumbling to himself. How _dare_ the place be so…. _chipper_.

Beside him, Fleur frowned, her lips pursed as she scanned the walls. Lupin and Krum had disappeared up into the attic when they had arrived, the twins sweeping the second floor, but Shacklebolt already knew what they would find. Just like the last half-dozen places they’d searched.

“He is taunting us,” Lupin agreed as he moved carefully down the steps.

“A bit much, don’t you think?” Fred scoffed from the top of the stairs. The more jovial of the Weasley twins glared at the front door, his eyes narrowed with hate.

 _Too late_ burned on the door’s surface, the flames dancing and spitting embers. Kingsley growled low in his throat.

The manhunt for Snape had been going for weeks at this point, and it hadn’t been lacking in volunteers. Shack had to admit, he was rather put out when Dumbledore had refused to allow him to lead the efforts, nominating Lupin instead, but at least his friend hadn’t tried to cut him out of the process.

After what the bastard had done to Hermione, Shack would be damned if he’d sit back and watch someone else hunt him down.

But every house they’d checked so far, every tip from Bones’ underground, had led to the same thing. An empty house, no sign of him or the Grangers save for a taunting message.

When he found the fucker, he was going to make him _beg_ to die.

“Shack,” Lupin’s calm voice said patiently, and he shook himself from his bloodthirsty reverie. “There’s nothing left to do here.”

He nodded, glancing around once more.  The Weasley twins had already gone. Fleur stood at his right, watching him warily. The part-Veela smiled suddenly, then took Krum’s arm and the pair vanished.

The sound of a throat clearing echoed through the small space, and Shack looked up, startled, to see Lupin gazing at him.

 _Bloody werewolf,_ he thought angrily, _too damn perceptive._

“Do I need to worry about you?” Remus asked quietly, and Shack scoffed. Shaking his head, he shot the other man a wry smile.

“Nah, I’m always okay,” he said with a forced chuckle.  Lupin smiled gently back, and Shack winced as the atmosphere grew charged.

“Glad to hear it,” Lupin agreed. “Now let me rephrase. Do I need to _worry_ about you?”

 _Fuck_ , Shack thought. He stared back at Lupin. How did he - ?

Closing his eyes, he scrubbed a hand across his face. “She’s a child,” Shack muttered.

“She is.”

“I’m a monster.”

Here, Lupin let out a startled, strangled laugh. “I know the feeling.”

Shack grunted, sitting down on a nearby couch. He glanced up at his friend, a sickly feeling spreading in his chest. Lupin was still gazing at him, that maddeningly calm expression on his face.

“How long?” the lycanthrope asked softly, and Shack let out a tired sigh.

“All summer.”

Silence echoed through the space. Kingsley shifted slightly on the couch, leaning forward and dropping his head into his hands. “How did you know?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Does it matter?” Lupin replied, and Shack hissed between his teeth.

“No, I guess not,” he said darkly.

“It isn’t obvious, if you were wondering,” his friend said kindly, and Shack sighed again. “I just know you.”

Shack snorted, shaking his head. A sudden hissing sounded, followed by the smell of smoke, and a it cheery cigar appeared in his line of vision. He accepted the cigar with a half-smile, leaning back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling as Lupin stepped back.

“But to be clear,” Lupin continued, “I know you to be a good man. I expect you to continue to act as such, and not cross the line.”

Shack didn’t say a word.  After a moment’s silence, Lupin cleared his throat, spun on his heel, and vanished.

Christ, he wanted a fucking _drink_. Shoving shakily to his feet, he scowled at the door once again then gathered his cloak and –

A rustling sounded from behind him, and he spun, his wand pointing ahead like a sword. His heart thundered in his ears, red creeping over the corners of his vision as he stared into the sneering face of Severus Snape.

“Finally,” the Death Eater murmured. “I was beginning to think you would _never_ admit it.”

 

* * *

 

_Nurmengard Prison_

_Plockenstein, Bohemian Forest_

_Austria_

Arthur hovered by the doorway, one hand resting on Harry’s shoulder, the other wrapped around his wand in his pocket.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Gellert,” Dumbledore was saying as he pushed to his feet.

The fallen Dark Lord scoffed, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face. “ _Thank_ me, he says,” he muttered to himself.  Turning to face Dumbledore, the man sneered at his ex-lover. “Lost another pet snake, I hear,” Grindelwald hissed. “Did you underestimate his venom, too, Al?”

Dumbledore flinched, and Arthur bit back a retort as Harry’s shoulder stiffened under his hand.

Bloody hell, but he hoped a fight didn’t break out. Bill was already going to be annoyed enough that Harry had been cut on a branch when they first arrived. His eldest didn’t take well to any harm coming to the boy.

Arthur fiddled with the vial in his pocket, frowning absently.

“What’s the matter, did you have a crush on him too?” Grindelwald pressed, smirking, and Dumbledore shot him a heated glare.

“Don’t be obscene,” the Headmaster said flatly. Grindelwald just chuckled.

“Oh, Albus,” the prisoner laughed, “you need to learn not to take yourself so seriously.” With a chilling smile, the man leaned forward and whispered, “We all die in the end, after all.” 

Turning slightly, the Dark Lord fixed his gaze on Arthur and hissed, “Isn’t that right, Weasley?”

“Albus,” Arthur said sharply, his eyes narrowed on Grindelwald. “The man has lost what little faculties he had left. You got what you came for. Let’s go.”

The Headmaster paused, eyes darting between Grindelwald, Arthur, and Harry, then nodded jerkily and moved toward the door.

“Oh, one last thing,” Grindelwald said gleefully, and Albus glanced back at him.

“It’s hidden as a necklace.”

 

* * *

 

_Chelsea, South London_

_England_

“Do you think you’re _better_ than me?” Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed on Shack’s face. The Death Eater took a step forward, pale hands clenched around his wand. “At least I _know_ what I am. Yet here you are, the _heroic_ Auror.  Lusting after a little girl. Just. Like. Me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shack ground out, his hands shaking.

Snape just grinned. “Of course you don’t,” he said silkily.

“I’ve never touched the girl!” Shack exploded.

Snape took another step forward, still smiling. “Neither have I,” he whispered. The smile grew. “Of course, I _have_ touched the mother. I’m not sure whether or not it’s comparable - I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

Shack growled under his breath, his hands continuing to shake as he glared at the man. In the back of his mind, he could hear Hermione, struggling to bite back sobs as her illness wracked through her. Could see her, looking pale and shocked as they discovered the spell that had been cast on her mind.

God, she was so _small_.  

“But you’ve wondered, haven’t you,” Snape pressed on. “Wondered what it would feel like, what it would _be_ like to destroy her innocence. She’s such a tiny thing - you’d probably rip her apart. Do you think she would scream when – ”

With an inhuman growl, Shack lunged forward, diving over the couch and reaching for Snape’s throat. His fingers went straight through the image and the projection flickered, then vanished, leaving him to tumble to the floor. He landed roughly on his knees, the wind knocked out of him, and Snape’s chilling laugh echoed in the air.

Sobs bubbled up from his chest and he stayed there, arms wrapped around his middle as he broke down on the floor. Behind him, he heard a door slam open. With another ragged cry, he shrank in on himself, curling into a ball.

 _Monster_ , he thought. Shuddering, he felt a pair of thin arms wrap around his back, felt a small, heart-shaped face rest on his shoulder.

“-leave him here? What were you _thinking_?” the voice – _Dora_ – demanded, and Kingsley’s sobs redoubled.

“- sorry, we swept the house and I thought  - ”

Beside him, Tonks let out an angry growl, and he felt more than heard as Lupin froze. “Come on, Kings,” Dora muttered, shoving herself under his arm to leverage him up. “Let’s go, bud.”

“I’m not like him,” Shack whispered brokenly. “I’m not.”

A pair of battered boots appeared in his line of sight, blurred by the haze of tears.  Blinking rapidly, he looked up to meet the regretful gaze of Remus Lupin.

“No,” the lycanthrope said quietly, a sad smile on his face, “you’re not.”

And his friends pulled him to his feet and led him away.

Snape’s laughter echoed on the air.

 

* * *

 

_Shell Cottage_

_Tinworth, Cornwall_

_October 17, 1996_

_The girl couldn’t have been more than five, maybe six. She stood in the middle of the square, tears streaming down her spot-covered face. A backpack hung from her shoulders, wires coming out in every direction. And one tiny hand was clenched around something, her entire arm shaking as she stood there, weeping._

_He looked down at the ground, cursing under his breath when he saw the timer. It was clearly a deadman’s switch in the brat’s hand, and the whole square was set to blow.  Shooting a quick look around the square, he saw Jones and Shack standing opposite him, Shack firing at a small group of combatants._

_They were all too far away. He shrugged and pointed his wand at the little girl’s arm. “Sorry, kid,” he muttered, the spell slipping from his lips._

_Her hand hit the ground, the detonator held in it, and she started to scream._

Bill gasped as he jerked out of the memory, falling back against the table behind himself. It had been weeks since he started going through Brand’s memories, bit by bit in his little spare time. He’d seen plenty that disgusted him, that horrified him. The man was depraved, no doubt about it.

But this – not even feeling the slightest remorse for causing a child so much pain – he shook his head, closing his eyes as the girl’s screams rang in his ears.

 _All things come with a price, wizard_ , the insidious voice echoed in his mind, and he gritted his teeth as he felt the telltale static rise. It never seemed to go away completely, not anymore, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could – well.

As long as he had to, at least. And maybe a few heartbeats after that.

“Can I help?” a soft voice asked, and Bill slowly opened his eyes. Taking a shallow, steadying breath, he glanced in the direction of the door to see Hermione Granger standing there, his shop door still cracked open behind her.

How the devil had she  -

“How did you get in here?” Bill demanded, shaking his head with a wry grin when the kid smirked. “Never mind. Been hanging around Alex again, have you?”

She smiled mischievously, letting the door shut the rest of the way as she moved fully into the shop. “Maybe,” she said simply. The smile fell from her face and she looked at him somberly, her eyes shadowed. “I know you’re trying to do quite a bit by yourself, Bill, and I can help.”

With a tired sigh, Bill studied the teen standing in his doorway. Sure, she wasn’t _his_ ward, but she was important to Harry. And the poor girl was getting far too much attention from places and people she shouldn’t. It wasn’t _healthy_ , the number of –  frankly – _old_ men who were fascinated with her.  Didn’t the kid deserve to be spared some horror?

“I don’t think there’s much I could have you do here, Hermione,” he started, and she was shaking her head before he got past the third word.

“Honestly, Bill, what do you think I’ll see in there that I haven’t already?” she asked sharply, scowling.

 _You have no idea_ , he thought. “Quite a lot, actually,” he replied instead, straightening up from the table he had half fallen onto. “I appreciate it, Hermione, truly. But the answer is no.”

“There must be _something_ I can do,” the girl huffed in frustration, and Bill bit back an amused chuckle.

“Seriously, kid,” he said with a sigh. Shaking his head, he glanced at her and scowled back. “Where are the others, anyway?”

“Ron is with Theo Nott and Dean Thomas, setting traps on the Hogwarts battlements,” she said simply. “Ginny and Luna are running through evacuation routes with the DA. Neville is with McGonagall doing – _something_ , I don’t know.” She shoved her hair back out of her eyes with a shaking hand, and Bill felt a flash of sorrow when she glared down at her hand.

“Harry?” he asked, and she smiled sadly.

“On the beach,” she murmured. “He wanted to be alone.”

Great. So the kid was in one of his melancholy moods. He shook his head with another frown, then looked back at the girl and sighed again.  “Fine,” he said shortly. “But no memories.” As she beamed at him, he stepped forward and reached behind her for a hidden panel, pressing his hand to the plate and activating the locks. The panel slid forward and revealed the stash of items he and Harry had _liberated_ from Malfoy Manor. He’d already checked through all of them for any traps, anyway, so what harm could it do?

“Go through these and see if there’s anything useful,” he instructed, and she grinned at him and immediately began rummaging through the pile. Stepping back, he rolled his eyes with a huff.  Honestly, these kids had _no_ sense of caution whatsoever. He turned back to his own task, studying the memory vials he still had to sort as Hermione murmured to herself.

“Bill?” the girl asked suddenly, and he set down the vial in his hand.

“Hmm.”

“Does your family know?”

Shoving his hand into his hair, he rifled through the cabinet and came out with one particularly vile memory – the thing was swimming like a jellyfish in the glass jar, oozing clouds of grey smoke. “Know what?” he asked absently, frowning at the vial.

“That you’re dying,” she said quietly, and he froze.

With a suddenly shaking hand, he set the vial down on the table and turned to look at her. Hermione was biting her lip, her hands resting on a nearby chair, and her eyes were fixed on his face. In his mind, the chilling voice began to laugh.

Hermione just met his eyes and whispered, “One doomed soul to another, you’ll feel better when you tell them.”

 

* * *

 

He sat on the shore, knees pulled up and arms resting across his knees. Gazing absently at the horizon, Harry watched as the sun sank beyond his sight.

He felt – strange.

He flexed his right hand absently, scowling to himself. It had always ached, _always_ , ever since he’d been five and Dudley had slammed the car door shut on his hand. His leg, the scar there from Brand’s knife – it was gone. His arm, from the dagger in the cemetery during the Final Task…. every little scar or hurt on his body was simply _gone_. And he had had quite a few.

It had been after the visit to Grindelwald. He’d gone to sleep that night and woken the next morning – later the same night, really, because it had been long before the dawn – and they had all vanished. And he’d had the strangest dream, all just flashes of images… a boulder and a lake, and a crown of wildflowers. He knew the Dark wizard has to have done _something_ to him – but what?

Not that it mattered, he supposed. After all, the school was likely being attacked in just two more weeks, and he wasn’t banking on surviving.

He scowled, shaking his head with a tired sigh. He needed to do what he’d come out there to do, after all. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he drew out a small parchment and a quill, then conjured a flat tabletop across his knees. He unrolled the parchment and spread it out, looking down at the document silently.

 

**Last Will and Testament of HJ Potter**

 

* * *

_Hogsmeade Village_

_Scotland_

_October 19, 1996_

Scrimgeour was going to bloody well kill him if he didn’t report in. And that was nothing compared to what Bones would do.

Gawain Robairds sighed, shoving his hand into his hair as he leaned against the wall in the shadowed alcove. Spy life was _hard_ , dammit, and he was bloody tired. And it had only been a few weeks.

Although… judging by the look of that group, he wouldn’t need to worry about doing _anything_ for much longer. The crowd was growing by the second, new figures in white masks and black cloaks appearing out of thin air every time he took a breath. He tightened his grip on his wand, gritting his teeth as he stared at them.

He was an _Auror_ , for chrissake. He wasn’t afraid.

But Merlin, did he wish Shack was there. Or Moody.

Or _anyone._

But he did his duty. Standing there, his breath crystallizing in the air as Dementors joined the party, he forced himself to focus. His eyes slid over the group gathered in the town center, trying desperately to identify all of those in attendance by build, hair, and what he could see of faces. There were Greyback’s awful claws, sticking out of his robes – that looked like Malfoy’s hair gleaming under the torchlight, the poncy bastard…

He caught a glimpse of flashing red eyes and felt himself go numb.

He was _here_.

Swallowing roughly, Robairds chanced a look at the buildings around him. Candles were flickering out in every window, and as he looked up, he saw one woman hurriedly closing shutters, her hands shaking. She met his eyes through the cracks and whispered something, but he couldn’t quite –

“Ah, Gawain,” a serpent-like voice hissed, and he jumped, his throat drying up, and turned to face his nightmare. You-Know-Who stood close enough that he could feel the monster’s breath, his face twisted in a cruel smile, malevolent red eyes shining with glee. “So good of you to join us.”

Robairds swallowed again, his hand shaking around his wand, and took a careful step back. The monster’s smile grew. “I – ” he started. Clearing his throat, he tried again as You-Know-Who simply stood there, waiting patiently. His mind blanked. He had no idea what on earth to do. _What does a man say when he’s face to face with a supervillain, anyway?_ he thought hysterically.

“I need to take you in, sir,” he stammered. “Under the authority of the Ministry, I – ”

Hoots of laughter broke out around them, and Gawain closed his eyes, his teeth chattering. _Seriously?_ he thought angrily. _Did you seriously just try to -  ?_

The monster chuckled, his eyes flashing. “Spread out,” he ordered without turning. “Search the village. Leave nothing standing.” His smile growing, he narrowed his eyes on Robairds. “Are you trying to _arrest_ me, Auror Robairds?” he whispered. Behind him, the night grew brighter as flames erupted on the roof of a nearby shop. “Tell me. What prison do you think could possibly hold _me_?”

Robairds swallowed again, closing his eyes as You-Know-Who leaned closer. _I’m sorry, Amy_ , he thought, tears springing up in his eyes. He braced himself for the blow and –

A sudden flash of golden light blinded him and his eyes shot open. Shaking, he stared at the shield that had erupted between him and You-Know-Who. The monster was glaring off to his right, his already thin lips pressed angrily together. Holding his breath, Robairds turned his head to see the doorway of The Three Broomsticks, it’s proprietor leaning casually against the doorframe.

“I can think of one,” Rosmerta said simply, a haughty smile on her face. Her arms were crossed lightly over her chest, her wand dangling from the fingertips of her right hand.

_What. The. Devil._

Gawain stared as his damsel-ish friend stood there, staring down You-Know-Who without a blink.

“Rosmerta,” the monster breathed. “What a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all yours, I’m sure,” she shot back, straightening up and unfolding her arms. As he watched, she tightened her grip on her wand, raising it to point straight at You-Know-Who’s face. “Robbie, go. Get help.”

“No, _Robbie_ , **stay** ,” the monster countered, turning his gaze to glare at the Auror for a moment. Robairds swallowed roughly again, his hands shaking as he struggled to calm himself, to focus. The Dementors were drifting closer, and he could hear his partner’s screams in the back of his mind – could see the flames dancing behind his eyes as the Weasley home burned to the ground –

Then You-Know-Who turned back to Rosie, and Robairds shot off a Patronus in the opposite direction.

“I must admit,” the monster continued, “I am rather impressed to see you standing so firmly. As I hear it, you’re rather a _fearful_ little thing.”

Rosmerta flat-out _snorted_ , and Gawain gasped at her.

“Some men are such simple creatures,” she scoffed. “They’ll believe any woman is weak if she just giggles and cries enough.” Affecting a stunned expression, she pressed her free hand to her chest and gasped, “‘But surely… you don’t mean…. Not _Sirius Black!’_ ” she said breathily. Her face hardened again as she glared roughly at Voldemort, her hand slowly falling to rest at her side again.

“You’ll answer for that, too,” she breathed, “for defiling his good name.”

You-Know-Who began to laugh. “Ah, priceless,” he chuckled. “My comeuppance is to be at the hands of a barmaid, and Edgar Bones’ mistress, no less!” Behind him, five Death Eaters formed a semi-circle at his back, all of them laughing uproariously.

Rosmerta just smiled, and You-Know-Who’s face hardened.

 

* * *

 

 _I am **not** a fighter_, Daphne thought desperately as she blinked away tears. Smoke billowed from a nearby building and she coughed, rubbing her free hand across her stinging eyes.

Honestly, how had she _gotten here_?

Sure, she knew Theo had his new pet project with the Gryffindors, and he’d been especially close-knit with Weasley, Longbottom, and the other two sixth year boys – the cute black boy and the goofy pyro nobodies – but why did that mean _she_ had to act like a lion?

A nearby roof shot up into the sky and she jumped, her heart thudding in her chest. Scowling to keep from crying, she leveled her wand on the nearest building and muttered, “ _Aguamenti_ ,” training the jet of water towards the base of the flames.

People were running left and right everywhere, rushing to eliminate the flames and to rescue survivors as the massacre came to an end. The number of shops and dwellings in Hogsmeade was insane, since the displaced Diagon shopkeepers had started to open their doors in the village the last couple weeks. And so all of the elder year students had been asked to help, to put out the flames and to search for victims, as soon as the fighting had ended.

She cast a glance back down the alleyway and gazed curiously at the doors to the Three Broomsticks. It was one of the only buildings left untouched, and soon after she had arrived, the Headmaster had disappeared inside, with Madam Rosmerta, Professors Shacklebolt and Lupin, some skinny woman with spiky purple hair, and a couple men who looked like Weasleys. And Harry bloody Potter, of course.

She sighed, shaking her head.  Maybe Theo could tell her what had happened, later. One of his new best friends was bound to fill him in. Nothing she could learn now.

With another scowl, she turned her attention back to the flames, eyes still burning from the smoke. The pillar of fire was starting to shrink, and she smiled slightly in triumph. She’d struggled with the spell before, and –

A sudden childish shriek cut through the air and her head snapped around, eyes wide. Her heart pounded as she gazed at the nearby buildings, scanning every window for a sign of –

 _There_. Throat dry, she spun and raced across the alleyway, her robes swirling at her ankles as she jumped over fallen beams and smouldering piles of rubble. She felt a flash of heat and a terrible sharp burn on her leg as a stray spark caught her and hissed under her breath, shooting a quick jet at her side without pausing. Her lungs burned with the exertion and she skidded to a halt, hands shaking as she stared up at the third story of the large shop.

“Help,” the little girl sobbed, her long brown hair matted around her face. The tiny little thing stared down at the street, her heart-shaped face scrunched up in fear, tear tracks through the soot on her face. She held a singed teddy in her arms, pressed to her chest. “Mummy!”

 _Mummy isn’t coming, love_ , Daphne thought sadly, gazing at the shadow in the second window across. The woman was slumped on the sill, blood crusted on her temple. The Slytherin girl looked frantically around, hoping for someone, _anyone_ – a high-pitched scream cut through her and she jumped, gaze jerked back to the highest window. Behind the little girl was a wall of flames, and it was inching closer.

“Fuck it,” she snarled under her breath, and with a quick wave of her wand, she cloaked a fire-resistant shield over herself, then bolted for the door. She hit the solid wood with her shoulder, gasping as the scorching hot wood touched her skin. _Guess I needed to practice that spell some more_ , she thought inanely as her shoulder blistered. She pulled up on the bottoms of her robes, gathering the skirts in one hand as she jumped over fallen chairs and shelves, eyes fixed on the stairs opposite. She stumbled over a stray beam, shrieking as she started to fall, and caught herself on the wall with one hand, tears springing into her eyes as the flesh immediately burned. Her fingers started to curl in on themselves and she snarled, shaking her hand out with a hiss.

Lunging forward, she hit the floor in front of the steps on her knees and gasped again as she nearly tumbled over. She lurched to her feet and took the stairs at a run, vaulting up three at a time. As she passed the second story, she shot a revealing spell at the floor and bit her lip when the spell registered no other living creatures.

The little girl’s mother was already gone.

The third landing came into view and she swallowed, staring at the opening at the bottom of the door. Smoke was billowing through the crack and she gagged, gasping for clean air, the little girl’s cries echoing through the hall. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and trembled for a moment, then stilled. _Focus,_ she told herself shakily. Her eyes opened slowly and the sound of the little girl, of the crackling flames, faded to a dull buzzing in her ears. With a steady hand, she vanished the door away, then stepped carefully into the room.

The fire was at the window now, greedily sucking up the air, and she looked around frantically for the little girl. The small child was curled up in the corner opposite, knees up to her chest as she sat there shaking. With a muttered swear, Daphne dodged around spurts of fire and reached out, cradling the little girl to her chest. She shrugged out of her robes, holding up a sleeve to the girl’s face to shield her mouth, then spun on her heel. The flames had spread to the doorway, trailing through the hall.

They were trapped.

A sudden clattering sound cut through the flames, and Daphne stared as someone – _Finnegan_ – shot into the room. He walked through the flames, his face screwed up against the heat, and glared openly at her. “Are you bloody mad?” the Gryffindor boy demanded, and Daphne glared as the little girl began to cry louder.

Of course, the pillock didn’t have a mark on him, save some soot in his sticking-up hair.

 _Not the time, Daph_ , she thought to herself with a scowl. _Rail at him later._

“Can we fight later?” she said shrilly. “We need to get out of here.”

The sandy-haired teen shot her a sudden grin. “Corner,” he said, gesturing to the spot where the little girl had been. “Keep her _still_.”

“What – ?” Daphne started, but he glared at her and she scowled back, stepping back into the corner. He jabbed his wand their way and an opalescent shield appeared, curving and creating a dome over them. The little girl gasped, eyes wide as she stared at the pretty sparkling shield, and Daphne tightened her grip on the squirming little girl, moving her to rest on her hip. She curled her uninjured hand around the back of the child’s head, pressing her face into her shoulder once again.

In the doorway, Finnegan set his jaw, eyes narrowed on the window. He cast his wand in an arc, sweeping across the room, and gritted his teeth. As Daphne watched, the flames soared higher, then collapsed, forming into tight little twisters. They swirled in place then shot up, coming together in a huge orb in the middle of the room, and hurtled towards Finnegan. The Irishman growled under his breath and jabbed his wand forward, and the giant ball of flame skidded to a halt a hairsbreadth from his face, turning and flying out the window. Daphne stared.

“Huh,” she muttered eloquently. She hated to admit she was almost… impressed, but within seconds the moment was ruined, Finnegan grinning and winking at her.  She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, and he seemed to slump a moment before his back straightened again.

 _You really should thank the boy_ , her inner voice scolded, and she sighed.

“Come on,” Finnegan muttered, “the fire is still going downstairs.” He crossed the room quickly, bending slightly to peer at the little girl’s face. “You alright, poppet?” he asked in a chipper voice, and the little girl stared at him incredulously.

Her spirit animal, this little thing was. Daphne bit back a chuckle and glanced worriedly around the room, but Finnegan was already moving again, standing over by the window. He pointed his wand down at the street below and waved at Daphne, pointing silently at the giant mattress he’d conjured. She scowled at him a moment then passed him the little girl, gathering her skirt and sitting carefully on the windowsill. With a poise borne from years on horseback, she spun around and vaulted out of the window, landing on swollen, blistered feet, and bit back a scream as her bones jolted. She shook her head to clear it, blinking back a new surge of tears, and spun around to look up at the window. Finnegan was already levitating the little girl down, and the child was screaming again in shock.

Then the poor little thing was within her reach, and Daphne gathered the girl into her arms, rubbing her uninjured hand along the little girl’s back and whispering soothingly in her ear.  The mattress bounced as Finnegan landed beside them –

And a shout echoed, and then he was slumping against the wall of the burning building, eyes closed.

The little girl screamed again, and Daphne turned to see a clawed man leering at them, saliva dripping from his teeth.

“You smell divine,” the monster breathed.

 

* * *

 

Lupin sighed tiredly, scrubbing a hand across his face. He wasn’t sure what else there was to be gained from the meeting at this point - they’d gone over every last angle. And he needed to check on his girls. Ginny had looked pale and rather drawn, Luna – well, _alert_ when he’d seen them last.

There wasn’t much that was more concerning than a totally focused Luna Lovegood.

He scowled as Shack shot him a questioning gaze, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure where Charlie was – he never really knew anymore, truth be told – and the younger man had been neglecting his training duties towards his sister and her best friend for weeks now.

And so watching over them fell to him.

He shook his head, frowning absently to himself as Dumbledore raised his voice sharply, Rosmerta stepping forward and prodding him angrily in the chest. Honestly, he may as well just go ahead and look for the girls, because they were far more likely to be productive than the group with whom he stood.

Shooting a reassuring smile at Dora and clapping Harry on the shoulder, Lupin turned and headed for the doors. He paused in the alleyway just outside the pub, his eyes narrowed on the reddening skyline.

Something was – off. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and then let it out, carefully categorizing all the sounds and smells around him.

Then he heard a high scream, smelled dank fur, congealed blood, and the sharp tang of rotting flesh, and his eyes shot open. He snarled deep in his chest, racing around the corner and diving for the other werewolf, his amber eyes flashing. With an angry growl, he landed atop the monster and shoved the older beast down into the dirt, his entire frame shaking with rage.

Sprawled on the ground, Greyback grinned up at him. “You’re welcome, cub,” the rabid beast chortled. “I’ve started you your very own pack. Be grateful,” he hissed.

Lupin snarled. Shoving back from the monster, he got to his feet and wrapped one hand around Greyback’s throat, his heart thudding in his ears. Behind him, he could hear the sobs of a young woman, the high-pitched wailing of a little girl. The edges of his vision flashed with red and he struggled to hold onto his composure as in the back of his mind, his wolf began to howl.

“I’ll give you more,” Greyback whispered, his own amber eyes manic. “Don’t you worry, cub, you won’t be alone anymore.”

Remus growled again, and the monster grinned at him. Suddenly, a low groan cut through the air behind them, and despite himself, Lupin glanced back. As he looked away, Greyback snarled, yanking out of his hold and back a couple steps. Remus swore under his breath and drew his wand, eyes fixed on Greyback’s face as the werewolf stepped forward.

“Still trying to pretend, are you?” the werewolf glared back at him. “Still think the wizards will _ever_ accept you, boy?”

Remus just took a step forward. Greyback grinned, his teeth bared, and his claws elongated at his fingers –

Then suddenly, the werewolf’s head swung wildly to the right, and his eyes grew wide and frightened. With a snarl, Greyback scrambled back and raced towards the road, and Lupin watched as the bogeyman from his childhood disappeared. The sound of footfalls echoed through the space, and a wizened but forceful voice, and Lupin smiled in spite of himself. _Thanks, Albus,_ he thought idly.

Spinning around, he looked down at the pair curled up on the ground. He knelt carefully beside the blonde teen – Daphne Greengrass, his memory supplied, bright but aloof at only thirteen – and reached carefully for her torn sleeve. The blood staining the garment told him already, but he needed to know –

The poor girl was staring at him, her crystal blue eyes wide and filled with tears. Gently, Lupin slipped the edge of her sleeve down her shoulder, feeling a wash of rage flood him as he stared at the giant bitemark at the base of her neck. It spanned her entire shoulder, the flesh already tainting, and he swallowed back bile as the teen started to cry again. Beside her, the boy was stirring – Seamus Finnegan, he remembered – and the Gryffindor boy shot upright, face pale and eyes fixed on Daphne’s wound.

“I’m dead,” the young girl whispered, and Lupin felt sorrow overpower the rage.

“No,” he began, but Daphne wasn’t listening. The girl had gone rigid, her face turning impossibly paler, and as the crowd behind them grew, she spun around and began to run her hands over the crying little girl, frantically checking her for injuries. A heart-wrenching cry bubbled from her lips.

Lupin went cold as Daphne pulled the little girl’s shirt loose, a round set of teeth marks visible on her stomach. The wolf snarled in his mind. The tiny child was weeping hysterically, her little face screwed up and turning red, and Daphne reached out with shaking hands and gathered the child into her lap.

“They’ll put me down,” Daphne whispered. Looking up slowly, she pressed the child’s face into her uninjured shoulder and met Lupin’s eyes, tears rolling down her face. “My family, they will put me down. Put _us_ down,” she murmured, tightening her grip on the crying little girl. She began to run her hand up and down the little girl’s back, wincing with every move as she jarred her injuries.

 _You poor, poor child_ , he thought tiredly.

Sometimes, he wondered if he hadn’t been better off. At least when he’d been bitten, he’d been too young to understand. He smiled sadly at the girl, reaching out and taking her unburnt hand. “No,” he said softly, “they won’t.”

 

* * *

 

_Hogwarts_   
  


Dumbledore smiled as he gazed through the wrought iron gates. He stood on the pathway with Arthur Weasley to his left and Bill Weasley to his right, Minerva and Kingsley just a few paces behind them. On the opposite side of the gate stood Pius Thicknesse, Tiberius McClaggen and Dirk Cresswell hovering behind him – and Anthony Greengrass at his side.

“We’ve told you, Dumbledore,” Thicknesse said in a cloyingly sweet tone. “We wish only to speak with the girl, to determine the best outcome for all the student body.”

“And I’ve told you, Pius,” Dumbledore replied simply, “that your time would be better spent hunting the monster that attacked Miss Greengrass. Your daughter is being well cared for, Mr. Greengrass,” he added, with a reassuring twinkle towards the glowering man.

Anthony Greengrass just scowled, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a thin line. “My daughter is dead, Dumbledore,” he spat. “Where is the beast?”

“There is no _beast_ within these gates,” Arthur shot back, his kindly face glaring at Greengrass, and Albus bit back a chuckle. As the Headmaster watched, McClaggen stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Arthur.

“I think we _both know_ that isn’t true,” the wizard breathed, smirking at Arthur, and the Weasley patriarch simply gazed back at the man impassively. Albus felt a surge of temper and reached into his voluminous robes, gnarled fingers wrapping around his wand.

“Enough,” Dumbledore cut in, shooting McClaggen a stifling look. “Pius, you have your answer. You will be removing no students from these grounds.” He turned his gaze to Dirk and raised an eyebrow, nodding to himself as the younger man flushed and looked down. The only Muggleborn department head stepped back, sinking into the shadows behind McClaggen.

Thicknesse leaned forward, eyes wide and manic. His thin hand wrapped around the bars of the gate, and Albus eyed his large opal ring curiously.  “The girl must be detained for evaluation,” Thicknesse whispered, “and Harry Potter must be taken into protective custody. If we have to use force to do so, we will.”

Behind him and to either side, Albus heard indignant gasps and sharp hisses of breath. The sharp static that seemed to cloak young William rose up in the air, and he sighed tiredly.

He would have to head this off, he supposed, before someone was hurt.

Dumbledore smiled gently. “My dear boy,” he chuckled, “we both know you are a mediocre wizard at best. And as long as I am alive, you will _never_ get to Harry Potter.”

Thicknesse shot him a thin smirk. “Finally, we agree on something.” The illegitimate Minister bowed low, then spun on his heel and vanished.  

A heavy silence fell over the group as the other men outside the gate hastened to Disapparate away. Albus sighed tiredly, drawing his hand through his long beard. Truthfully, speaking with Thicknesse always made him feel rather dirty, as though he had bathed in crude oil. What he wouldn’t give for a lemon drop right then.

If only Miss Lovegood hadn’t stolen them all during her last invisible foray into his office.

“I think that went well,” he announced simply, and the others turned and stared at him.

 

* * *

  
It was so impossibly cold.

Harry stood on the tower and gazed down at the grounds, his eyes scanning over the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake, the gates. The sun had set hours before, the torches in the castle dimmed, and not a single hearth of firelight glowed from the ravages of Hogsmeade below.

He let out a tired sigh as he stared at the destroyed magical village. Sometimes he wondered if Ginny was right, and the world was just burning down. First Diagon Alley, then Hogsmeade, both in less than two months…

Scrubbing a hand over his forehead, he scowled at the night. Honestly, he remembered standing in that exact spot, not even five full months before, and thinking life couldn’t get any worse.

He really wished the universe would stop taking that as a challenge. But…

At least it was quiet up there, alone on the tower.

Then the sound of boots on stone cut through the air, and he scowled. He hadn’t had more than thirty minutes alone in weeks, was it _really_ so much to ask..?

“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy’s grating voice sounded, and Harry sighed. He didn’t bother to turn around, didn’t even move his head, just continued to look out over the grounds. Near the edge of the Forest, he could see smoke unfurling from Hagrid’s chimney, and he smiled lightly. Maybe he’d go see his first friend soon – it wasn’t as though he was going to sleep anyway.

“You should be,” Malfoy continued, and Harry snorted. Apparently, the Sytherin boy had taken his silence as agreement. “Do you see what we did to your little town there?”

 _We_. Harry snorted again. As though the little ferret has anything to do with the attack. Right.

“She’s going to be okay, by the way,” Harry said quietly, and Malfoy froze.

“What?” the Slytherin shot back, and Harry smiled.

“Daphne,” he explained, still not turning to face the boy. “She’s your friend, isn’t she? Well,” he shrugged, “inasmuch as you _have_ any friends.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Greengrass is dead,” he bit out, and Harry scowled again. Every time he thought Draco Malfoy couldn’t…

“Every time I think you can’t possibly get any worse, you really _lower_ the bar, you know that?” Harry muttered, letting out a tired sigh. “She’s not dead, she’s just different now. But I forgot, you’re too much of a small-minded coward to understand that.” He turned his gaze to the gates, eyes fixed on the expanse of darkness beyond them. Out there, somewhere, lay his doom.

Merlin, how he missed the days when the twitchy little ferret actually seemed a threat.

Behind him, still affronted, the Slytherin boy snarled. “You’re going to die, Potter,” he shot at Harry, and Harry smiled sadly, his eyes still resting on the gates.

“I know,” he said quietly.

 A stunned silence fell over the tower. Turning slowly, he finally met Malfoy’s gaze with a hard stare.

He’d never realized what a _child_ Draco Malfoy was. How utterly afraid the boy was.

“But I’m taking your precious lord with me,” he whispered, taking a step forward, and Malfoy swallowed. “And your father, and all his other little minions.”

Harry just smirked, shouldering past Malfoy to the exit. “You just think about that,” he called back over his shoulder, “before you go joining his little club. Keep in mind the membership fees.”

And without another word, he climbed down from the tower, Malfoy’s shocked outrage echoing in the night.

 _Yeah,_ Harry thought to himself, _rock cakes sound perfect right about now._

 

* * *

 

 

****

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Staunch to the End

 

_The Fortress_

_Hirta Island, St. Kilna_

_Outer Hebrides, Scotland_

_October 23, 1996_

 

"And that's everything," Ron murmured, his eyes narrowed as he gazed around the entranceway. Beside him, Harry stood silently, Hermione a few feet away still running diagnostic spells.

"Truthfully," the Gryffindor witch said quietly, biting her lip, "I don't really know what else we could possibly add."

Harry let out a tired sigh and scrubbed his hand over his face. Idly, he fiddled with the dragon tooth necklace at his throat as he stared down one of the passageways. He shook his head, scowling, and stepped forward, moving quickly towards the Dorms Hall. Ron and Hermione fell in behind him, following along as he passed by open door after open door. All of the rooms were furnished, barely, of course, but furnished all the same. He stared at the small twin beds and plain dressers, the barren stone walls, and shook his head, continuing on down the hall.

As he walked, torches flickered to life along the walls before them. A long trek brought him down to their Command Center, and he came to a halt beside the huge, circular table that now stood in the center of the room. Spread across the surface was a glowing parchment, and Harry gazed down at the map. As he watched, the tiny footprints labeled 'Neville Longbottom' paced the front dias in the room of Requirement at Hogwarts. At his side stood Ginny and Luna, with a small gathering of students appearing in the hallway, dots multiplying by the second. He turned his gaze to another section of map and watched as the dot labeled "Hermione Granger" moved towards his own.

"This is really something, Hermione," he said softly, and he heard Ron snort at the understatement.

The Map on the table put the Marauder's Map to shame. The product of weeks of hard work, it had taken the efforts of Hermione, Ron, Lupin, Bill, Shacklebolt, Dean and, surprisingly, Theo Nott, to bring the Map to life. A sudden glow erupted on the parchment and Harry stiffened, then relaxed when he saw the dot of Alexandria Abernathy appeared at the front door. At her shoulder was Louis St. James and Deacon Rothschild – with Bill's absence glaring.

Behind the map, a Foe Glass on the wall appeared, shadows moving within it. The faces didn't sharpen.

Hermione smiled slightly. "There's more to activate," she replied, "but I'm still trying to figure out the best method of delivery."

Harry grunted. His mood gone sour, he stepped back from the table and stared around the room.

"Eight days," Hermione whispered, and Ron scoffed beside her.

"At best," Ron said with a scowl. Harry set his jaw as he felt their gazes land on him, and he clenched his teeth together, squeezing the crystal in his pocket.

"This is gonna work, mate," Ron said softly, and Harry glanced over at him, his mind racing. With a frown, the Potter teen grunted and turned on his heel, leaving the room in a hurried pace. He heard Hermione sigh behind him and the other two followed again, shadows casting along the walls.

In the entrance he stopped, standing framed in the doorway and gazing up at the night sky. The wards were sparking, shooting off bolts of static every so often as he watched. Letting go of the crystal in his pocket, he let out another tired sigh. The wards vanished from his view, and the glowing moths lining the pathway became the only light.

"It's going to have to," he replied finally, and without another word, he spun on his heel and vanished back to Hogwarts.

 

* * *

 

_Hospital Wing_

_Hogwarts_

 

"It can't feel that, you know," a soft voice echoed through the wing, and Daphne jerked back, whipping her head around to glare at the doorway. Behind her, the moon hung in the sky, framed by dark, threatening clouds.

Hannah Abbott smiled at her lightly, uncrossing her arms and straightening from where she had been leaning against the doorway. "The moon," she explained, though Daphne hadn't bloody asked. "It doesn't know you're glaring at it."

Daphne scoffed, raising an eyebrow as she gazed imperiously at the Hufflepuff girl. The the other teen just smiled again.

"It can't hurt you," she whispered, and Daphne closed her eyes.

"It's going to hurt me plenty in a couple days," she replied, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. A surge of anger rose up in her – who did this girl think she _was_?

Abbott flinched slightly, and Daphne felt a surge of victory. Good. The little brat _should_ feel uncomfortable. It was only fair. But the victorious smirk died as the other girl walked into the room and sat gingerly on the edge of her bed. Daphne just stared, dumbstruck.

"That's true, I suppose," Abbott said softly, her face somber. "But you have the best people in the world to help you. Professor Lupin can get you through this." Without waiting for permission, the girl scooted around on the bed and leaned against the headboard beside Daphne, stretching her legs out with a long sigh.

"And," she continued with an amused grin, "you've just been unofficially adopted into the strangest extended family ever."

Daphne flinched, closing her eyes, as her sister's scornful face rose up in her mind. Beside her, Abbott shifted slightly, and Daphne felt an arm go around her. She stiffened, jerking forward, and the other girl just sighed.

"They won't speak to you?" Abbott asked softly, and Daphne scoffed.

"To whom?" she replied scathingly. "I died. They don't care about this _thing_."

"You aren't dead, Daphne," the Hufflepuff replied in a hard voice.

"Good as," Daphne muttered, and she sighed, opening her eyes and falling back against the pillows. Clearly, the annoying chit wasn't going to leave any time soon, and why should she be uncomfortable? "She's just doing what she's told," Daphne murmured, eyes prickling with tears. "She has to stay on Malfoy's good side, because Father wants to marry her into the family. It was supposed to be me, but… well." She shrugged lightly and turned her gaze towards the window on her right, turning away from Abbott.

"Lucky you," the Hufflepuff muttered, and Daphne spun around, staring at her.

"Are you insinuating," she asked shrilly, glaring at the rosy-cheeked Hufflepuff, "that you would rather be a werewolf than married to Draco Malfoy?"

"Well…. _Yeah_ ," Abbott – Hannah – replied, seeming genuinely confused by the question, and Daphne choked, bursting into hysterical laughter on her next breath. Tears clouded her vision but she caught sight of Abbott's alarmed face as she doubled over, pulling her knees up to her chest and letting her long hair curtain her face. Beside her, the Hufflepuff girl shifted back slightly, rubbing a hand up and down her back as everything surged up – the insanity of her life, past and present, the strange new bedfellows, the people she'd thought she could count on forever who were just _gone_ …

"Hannah, what the bloody hell are you – " Susan Bones' voice echoed from the corridor, and Daphne glanced up to see the redhead standing in the doorway, glaring at Hannah. Abbott. Whoever. "You broke her," the other Hufflepuff said flatly, eyes fixed on Daphne's face, and Hannah stiffened indignantly, her hand stilling on Daphne's back.

"She's just emotional right now," Hannah defended herself, and Daphne forced back another bout of laughter, burying her face back in her knees. "I'm keeping her," the other girl continued.

"She isn't a _pet_ , Hannah, you can't just go around collecting living beings!" Bones cried with exasperation, and Hannah just scoffed. "Remember what happened with the Niffler?"

 _Oh, bloody hell._ Daphne slowly raised her head, her eyes boring holes into Bones as she glared through red-rimmed eyes. "You did _not_ ," she said icily, "just compare me to a _Niffler_."

"I – " Bones started, but a smooth voice cut through the wing, and Daphne turned to see salvation standing in the doorway.

"Daphne," Blaise said with a grin, "you didn't tell me you were having a party." The dark-skinned Italian eyed Hannah with a sparkle in his eyes, winking at the blonde girl. "Is it clothing optional?"

"Pig," Daphne muttered, biting back a grin as Hannah choked. "What are you doing here?"

The other Slytherin straightened and moved into the room, sitting casually on the hospital bed next to hers. "Checking on my favorite girl, of course," he replied smoothly. He grinned rakishly at her then sombered, leaning forward. "How are you feeling, _tesoro_?"

"I'll be fine," Daphne replied shortly, mindful of the two Hufflepuffs still in the room. Beside her, Hannah removed her hand from Daphne's back, exchanging a look with the girl in the doorway.

"It's been a long week," Blaise murmured, and the Slytherin girl scoffed at him.

"You don't say," she said snidely, scowling at him, and beside her, Hannah sighed. She shoved one hand into her long hair, closing her eyes as she pulled at the roots, and bowed her head with a frown. "Astoria?"

A heavy silence fell over the room, and she glanced up, letting her hand fall from her hair. A curtain of blonde strands fell over her face as she met Blaise's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I tried."

As the silence stretched on, Daphne sighed, shaking her head. "She's just doing what she's told," she muttered again. In her mind's eye, her sister's face flashed – wide eyed and smiling as she found a swarm of butterflies in a pasture, pale and frightened as she slipped into Daphne's bed during a particularly loud thunderstorm – and she swallowed as a lump formed in her throat.

"She's just not strong like you, Daph," Blaise said softly, and Daphne let out a startled huff.

" _Am_ I?" she asked with a scowl.

"Yes," Hannah and Blaise said, almost in unison, and Daphne fell silent, leaning back against the headboard again and staring straight ahead.

"I have an idea," Hannah said suddenly, and Daphne glanced at the girl as Bones bit back an annoyed groan. "Desserts!" the blonde Hufflepuff said with a wide smile. As Daphne stared, she pressed on. "Ron showed me the kitchens and I made friends with a wonderfully sweet house elf named Dobby. He'll make us whatever we would like. What's your favorite?" The other girl frowned suddenly. "Although… nothing chocolate."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. What, was the girl trying to dictate her food choices now?

"Chocolate is toxic to werewolves in high enough doses," Hannah explained softly, and Daphne felt the blood drain from her face.

_But…_

"You're joking," Blaise spluttered, and the two Hufflepuffs turned to look at him, Hannah expectantly, Bones with a glare on her face. "Professor Lupin is practically a chocolate _addict_."

The two girls continued to stare at him, and his face fell, the boy shooting an apologetic glance Daphne's way. "Oh," he muttered.

 _Suicide by chocolate_ , she thought with slight hysteria. _My old professor, the one who is supposed to_ _ **help**_ _ **me**_ _through this, has been trying to commit_ _ **suicide**_ _by_ _ **chocolate**_ _for_ _ **years**_ _._

 _Maybe he didn't know_ , she thought with a frown, then snorted. Right. The man was a bonafide genius.

"Chocolate isn't my favorite, anyway," she said simply, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the others relaxed. Next to her, Hannah beamed, turning on the bed and practically bouncing towards her.

"What is, then? Dobby makes a _fantastic_ berry tart! Or, ooh, his crème brûlée is amazing and…"

 

* * *

 

Sue chuckled under her breath as she slipped through the Hospital Wing doors. _Poor Greengrass_ , she thought idly. Once Hannah decided she was going to be your friend… there wasn't anything that could deter her.

And, Sue could warn the Slytherin girl from experience, it would take _weeks_ before she would stop trying to mother her.

She sighed, shaking her head with a rueful grin. She supposed she would just have to add Daphne Greengrass to the 'List of People Hannah Wants to Save.'

It was in a drawer by her bed, at Hannah's insistence. And it was getting rather long.

" _Wait_!" a voice cut through her musings, and Sue skidded to a halt and spun on her heel, glaring down the corridor. Behind her, Blaise Zabini stood there, looking slightly winded and not a little annoyed.

"Merlin, you're six inches shorter than me at _least_ ," the Slytherin boy griped. "How are you so _fast_?"

The sound of stomping feet echoed through the corridor and Sue glanced over her shoulder to see Seamus heading towards her, his eyes narrowed on the Slytherin. Behind him, Dean and Theo followed at a more relaxed pace, the other Slytherin's brow furrowed. As she watched, Dean turned his head and muttered something to Theo, and the wiry Slytherin shook his head and frowned.

She turned back slowly, fixing Zabini with a disinterested gaze. "What," she said flatly, and she felt Seamus step up beside her, standing shoulder to shoulder. The Irishman was tense, his face twisted in a scowl, and she bit back a grin.

 _Oh, Seamus,_ she thought fondly. _So predictable._

"You're going to a meeting, right?" Zabini replied calmly.

"What?"

"A D.A. meeting," he continued. "I want to go."

Sue scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "I hardly think _you've_ had a change of heart," she said sharply, her eyes narrowed. The dark-skinned Italian grinned, his white teeth flashing in his pretty face.

"Merlin, no," he chuckled, shaking his head with a grin. "I loathe all of you. I wouldn't give a bloody damn if the lot of you dropped dead."

Sue heard Theo wince and bit back her own grin. _Yeah, mate,_ she thought to herself, _your friend is really selling himself here._

"Then why the fuck do you want to go?" Seamus demanded, and Zabini's eyes flickered toward the Irishman for a split second before he focused back on her.

"They want her dead," Zabini said softly, his arrogant grin fading. "Something awful happened to her, and it isn't her fault."

Sue stared at the Slytherin boy with narrowed eyes as Seamus shifted at her shoulder.

"That girl in there, she's my best friend," Zabini continued. "'cept for you, of course, Theo," he nodded towards his fellow Slytherin. "They want her dead, and they want Theo dead, so…"

The boy's face hardened and his eyes glinted dangerously. "So I want every last one of them dead." He grinned again. "It's only fair."

Sue huffed out a startled laugh as she met his eyes, shaking her head. Beside her, Seamus and Dean were stiff and silent, and Theo stood to her right, looking back and forth between her and Zabini.

"You understand that right now, that includes your good buddy Malfoy," Sue said simply.

Zabini met her gaze evenly. "I'm aware."

"Your mother?"

His mouth quirked in a half-grin. "Neutral."

"Where is she?" she demanded, and Zabini outright laughed.

"Fuck if I know," the Slytherin replied. "She dropped me off at the Express and I haven't heard from her since. I think she has a new plaything - she's probably halfway around the globe by now."

Sue nodded slowly, feeling Seamus fidgeting anxiously behind her. "Theo," she asked flatly, and the other Slytherin winced again.

Theo shot his friend a look, then looked back at her, biting his lip. "He's a prick sometimes," Theo said, and Blaise grinned wider, "but he keeps his word."

 _He hasn't_ _ **given**_ _his word_ , Sue thought darkly. "Fine," she replied shortly. "Theo, _you_ get to convince Ron and Hermione." She spun on her heel, Seamus and Dean falling into step with her, and they set off down the hallway. "And if you turn on us, Zabini, I'll put you in the ground myself!" she shouted back over her shoulder.

"Please, _fragolina,_ like you could actually kill someone!" Zabini shouted back, and Seamus growled under his breath.

Sue just smiled. _Would you like to find out for yourself?_ she thought snidely.

 

* * *

 

_Room of Requirement_

_Hogwarts_

 

"Alright everyone, that's all for today," Neville said with a slight smile. "Thanks for coming and don't forget, if you can manage extra patrols, see Sue or Seamus to find out what shifts are available. Have a good night!"

A chorus of 'goodnight' and 'see you's echoed through the room, and Neville stood perfectly still on the platform until the door swung shut behind the last student. The minute the door closed, he spun around, the fixed smile disappearing. " _Zabini_?" he said incredulously, and Ginny laughed and shrugged, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Well, he _is_ kinda hot," she replied, smirking, and Neville stared at her. "What? He is!"

"Sue wouldn't bring someone here because she thinks he's good looking," Neville responded flatly, and Ginny laughed again.

"No," she agreed, shaking her head. "But Daphne Greengrass is his best friend, so that could have something to do with it."

Neville frowned. Raising an eyebrow, he turned his head towards the little blonde sitting on the edge of the platform, tracing designs into the air with her wand. "Do you trust him?" he asked Luna.

"He knows who he is," she replied vaguely, and Neville's frown deepened.

"What does that _mean_?" Ginny scowled, and Luna just smiled.

"You'll see," she giggled. "Although, he is rather good looking."

"Right. So we're going with no," Neville muttered, "we don't trust him. But he is apparently very pretty. Got it."

"As long as you know," Gin smirked, and Neville shot her a baleful glare. "What? It's not our fault you've only even _noticed_ one girl for over five years now. Not all of us are like you."

Neville flushed, a hand immediately going to his pocket. "I notice you two," he protested weakly, and Ginny grinned.

"Yeah, sure." She rolled her eyes. "You should tell her, Nev," she said more gently.

"Not right now," Luna singsonged, and the pair turned to stare at the girl.

"No?" Neville asked. Although. He couldn't claim to be surprised. He already knew that she didn't…

Luna looked up, meeting his gaze with intense focus. "She isn't ready to hear you yet," she said softly.

" _Yet_ ," Ginny repeated emphatically, and Neville sighed.

"I need to go meet McGonagall," he murmured. "Where are you two off to?"

Ginny stretched her arms above her head and linked her hands, wincing when her shoulder popped. "Checking in with Viktor," she replied. "He wants to run some more blood tests."

Neville frowned again. "They haven't found _anything_ , Gin. Don't you think – "

"I know something is there," Ginny cut him off, scowling, and Neville looked helplessly at his other friend. Luna frowned, her normally vacant expression sharp and somber, and he swallowed.

"It's going to be – "

"All sunshine, rainbows, and Pygmy puffs, I know," Ginny said waspishly, and she shot him an apologetic grin and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. Patting him on the arm, she vaulted down from the platform and headed for the door.

"Ginny," Luna called after her, and Ginny paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Yes?" she asked simply, and Luna blinked at her.

"Pygmy puffs are mean," the Ravenclaw told her seriously. Neville stared at the back of her head as Ginny barked out a laugh.

"I'll keep that in mind," the Weasley girl grinned, and the door swung shut behind her. Neville scrubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders falling as he closed his eyes.

"Do I need to worry about her, too?" Neville asked hoarsely, dropping his hands, and Luna hummed under her breath.

"We need to worry about everyone, Neville," she said gently. Clambering to her feet, she crossed the platform and kissed his cheek. "But speaking of Hermione, I told her I would help with some research tonight. And they should be back by now."

"Be careful," Neville said somberly, and she smiled.

"Always."

The door closed again and he fell back against the wall, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. His hands were shaking as he balled them into fists at his sides and he took slow, steady breaths as he stood there, listening intently to the silence.

Merlin, he was so bloody tired. And so tired of being cooped up inside stone walls. Opening his eyes, he pressed one hand to the wall behind him and _focused_. The Room shifted, the stones sliding beneath his feet, and a small trapdoor appeared beside him.

Neville smiled tiredly. He bloody _loved_ the Room of Requirement. With a wave of his wand, he sealed their meeting space against any but the 'Inner Circle,' and then turned and slipped through the trapdoor, his hands still shaking on the ropes as he climbed down. The rope ladder stopped a good meter above the ground and he jumped down the rest of the way, dust flying up from beneath his boots as he landed in a crouch.

The dusty alcove was nearly pitch black, no light save one small torch on the wall opposite, and he lifted the torch and scowled as the flames cast jerky shadows along the walls. Closing his eyes, he took another deep breath and willed himself to calm. His hands stilled, and his eyes opened.

Three steps took him to an archway, and he passed through and opened a large wooden door, smiling as he felt the cool night air brush across his face. A steady breeze was bowing the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest, a hoot or chirp echoing every so often from the branches. With a soft sigh, he settled himself on the edge of the hill and threaded his fingers into the grass, closing his eyes as he felt the energy thrumming through the blades.

 _Better_ , he thought simply, and he leaned back on his elbows, feeling the cold dampness of the ground seep into his robes.

Then the sound of footsteps cut through the night, and he opened his eyes to see Professor McGonagall looking down at him sternly.

"Do you have all night, Mr. Longbottom?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I assure you, I do not."

Neville grinned, sitting up quickly. Some things _never_ changed.

 

* * *

 

_Remains of Malfoy Manor_

_The outskirts of Malmesbury_

_Wiltshire, England_

 

"Explain it anyway," Dumbledore said gently, "no matter how simplistic you think your explanation."

Rosmerta scowled. "Think of it like a massive Legilimency field," she replied, glaring at the grounds. The rubble had been cleared slightly, but mounds of rock and debris were still scattered everywhere. And blue and white bolts of lightning still shot up from the ground, hissing and crackling as they passed through some invisible barrier. "Although it takes action on what it finds."

Albus smiled softly at the thought of his dear friend. Minerva has been completely correct, that Hagrid retained enough innocence and purity of heart to be able to walk the grounds unscathed.

"But as you said weeks ago, it was simply too generic," he responded. "Had it been limited or defined in any way…"

"Albus, what are you suggesting?" Rosie asked shrilly, and Dumbledore turned his head, meeting her eyes with a gentle smile. The barkeeper was watching him with a worried frown, her eyes dark and troubled.

"It was very brave of you, Rosmerta, to keep Tom distracted until I arrived," he said instead. "I hope you realize as much."

The woman scoffed. "'Brave' didn't help Robbie, did it?"

Albus frowned. Gawain had been a kind soul. He deserved a far better end than what he had received.

"It bought him time," Albus said softly, and Rosmerta sniffed, looking away.

"I stand by my statement," she muttered, shooting him a glare. "If you're suggesting what I think you are – Albus, the energy required to cover just _this_ place nearly killed Bill. And now, nobody can even _stand there_ without being injured. Or worse."

Albus nodded thoughtfully. The increasingly violent-minded cursebreaker has suggested a test to the spell on the property the week before, and before Albus had gotten wind of it, his request had been carried out by the twins and three members of his team. _How_ George Weasley had gotten his hands on Amycus Carrow, he didn't understand. He had learned over the years never to underestimate the ingenuity of a Weasley, of course, but _still_.

And that young William had called sending Amycus onto the property against his will an 'experiment,' and not murder… _that_ was troubling in its own right.

"It would take some alterations, to be sure," he agreed absently, his eyes fixed on the mound of ash nearest the start of the dead grass.

"Alterations? Albus, for heaven's sake – "

"You know I'm right," he said simply, and Rosmerta fell silent.

An uneasy quiet fell over them and he stepped forward, his eyes narrowed on the deadened property. As he crossed the barrier, he felt the bee sting sensation spring up on his skin. Ariana's voice echoed in his mind, tears in her shrill voice. _Albus, help me, Albus!_

He shook his head and stepped back, Rosie's eyes lingering on him.

"If you insist on doing this," she said finally, "we can talk to Brand and – "

Albus shook his head, smiling, and the woman's voice trailed off. "Rosmerta, my dear," he said simply, "I have no need of Klaus Brand."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, silver dreidel-shaped object, and he bent over with a wince and a creak, setting one pointed end down in the dirt. With a shriveled hand, he tapped the other end with his wand, and the dreidel spun wildly, symbols and runes appearing in the air before them. He rose slowly to stand beside the woman and his smile widened.

"I only need you," he finished, as Rosmerta stared at the runes.

 

* * *

 

_Defense Professor's Quarters_

_Hogwarts_

_October 29, 1996_

"Anyone else?" Arthur asked wearily, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He squinted at the list with a worried frown, his free hand clenching around a glass of scotch.

Christ, he was tired. He was getting too damn old for these days-long treks across South America and Africa alone.

"No," Shacklebolt responded with a frown of his own, tossing back his glass. He leaned back in his big leather armchair, stretching his legs out to rest on the coffee table. "Jordan hasn't had any luck connecting with the last three members of the Romanian team. They all went dark one week apart."

"But Pritchard reported movement?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowed. He set down the glass and rummaged through the papers at the desk before him, sliding a small map free from the pile. He gazed down at the map of Sighisoara, watching as the lines of ink danced on the parchment.

"Not quite."

Arthur looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the somber man. Kingsley met his gaze with a steely glint. "The whole Citadel."

"Survivors?" Arthur practically barked, and Shack shook his head.

"They razed it to the ground."

His fingers tightened on the map, knuckles turning white. "Christ," Arthur muttered.

Shack nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. "Even took down Butcher's Tower," he tumbled. "Overkill, if you ask me, it was already half-destroyed."

"Nothing is sacred to these monsters," Arthur breathed, closing his eyes. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire.

"If Pritchard hasn't reported in yet, we have to assume – " Shacklebolt began slowly, and Arthur shook his head, opening his eyes.

"How long?" he asked simply, and Shacklebolt hesitated.

"Jordan has not heard from him in three days," he replied, scowling, and Arthur sighed heavily.

"And the Citadel was razed when?"

"Four days ago. The others died in the massacre."

"The Clan is on the move, then," Arthur murmured. He tossed the map back on the desk and dropped his head into his hands, digging his fingers into his temples. "He did it. The bloody psychopath did it."

"Looks that way," Shacklebolt agreed. The burly Auror hesitated a moment before asking, "Orders?"

Arthur let out a slow breath, unclenching his hands. "Is Rufus back yet?"

"Last night," Shack agreed. "He and Amy went to get a rest, but hell, it's three o'clock in the morning," he snorted. "They should be up and about by now."

He nodded thoughtfully, raising his head and turning to gaze absently at the fire. Voynich had a marvelous Tuica, he thought inanely. It was a shame. "Have him pick a team. Go check out the Citadel. See what they find."

"I could – "

"You're needed here, and you know it," Arthur cut the bigger man off sternly, and Shack sighed. The burly Auror got to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the fire, and Arthur just watched him quietly.

"We have to assume they've brought some powerful artifacts with them," Shack warned, scowling. "What we gained of Nott's collection from Malfoy Manor, that can't even be _half_ of what the Clan had hidden underground in that city."

"Probably," Arthur agreed wearily.

"If they have the Cup – "

"They don't."

The younger man stilled, his entire frame tensing. As Arthur watched, the other man turned slowly, his face set.

"I thought you trusted me," Kingsley said softly, and Arthur smiled.

"I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't," the Weasley patriarch replied.

"And yet, almost twenty years of working for you, and you've never kept a secret from me."

Arthur snorted, his grin widening. "Son, I keep secrets from everybody. Most of you just never get the chance to find out."

"Yeah?" Shack shot back, glaring at him. "How many of _them_ did you have chasing something when you knew exactly where it was? For _years_?"

"Well…" Arthur began, his voice trailing off when Shack huffed.

"How long have you _had_ it?" he demanded. The man held up a hand and scowled, shaking his head. "No, wait, I don't want to know. I don't know what's worse," he muttered to himself, turning and practically throwing himself back down in his chair.

"Come again?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowed.

" _This_? Or all that time I spent leading the hunt for Sirius Black… only to go back to Sirius Black's house every other day for secret club meetings." The burly Auror scowled again, grabbing his scotch bottle and refilling it to the rim as Arthur struggled not to laugh. "A man only has time for so many side jobs, Arthur."

Arthur nodded emphatically, fixing a sympathetic look on his face. "I'm sorry for the ruse, my friend," he said simply, and Kingsley sighed.

"I get it," he murmured. "Smart. Best way to keep something safe is to make it look like you don't have it. Who knows?"

"Rufus."

"Does he know what it is?" Shack asked, and Arthur shook his head. The image of a boulder, a lake, a crown of flowers rose up in his mind, and he rubbed his hands on his temples again.

"I fear I've made the wrong call," he said softly, and Shack scoffed.

"All this time, I've only seen you be wrong _once_ ," the Auror said. He pointed at Arthur with the hand holding the bottle, nodding to himself. "I'm betting on you."

"Twice," Arthur muttered, and Shack shook his head.

"You weren't wrong about Brand, Arthur," he said urgently. "People _change_. And not always for the better."

"Exactly," he replied, and Shack stared at him. "Kingsley, I need you to promise me something."

"What, boss?"

"If you ever – " Arthur stopped, swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat, and tried again. "If you ever see me behaving in a manner that threatens my family or our team, I need you to neutralize me."

Silence echoed in the room, and he looked up to see Shacklebolt staring at him, his face a stony mask.

"Arthur, you are the _only_ man I've _never_ worried about turning," Shacklebolt said slowly, and Arthur smiled.

"Thank you, son, but I'm serious. There are…" He sighed, frowning as he stared blankly at the fire. "There are some risks I've taken recently, and I believe they were the right thing to do, but… nonetheless." Turning back to his friend, he smiled sadly. "We've seen what a slippery slope this can be. I need to know that if I fall, you won't let me hurt anyone."

Shacklebolt stared back at him, his face blank. The younger man's eyes searched his face, and after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "I cannot think of any circumstance that would cause me to _ever_ raise a hand or wand to you," he said in a low voice. "But I won't let you falter, either."

"Thank you, my friend," Arthur said hoarsely, sagging in the chair.

The Auror nodded. "Are you going to tell me what you've done to yourself, now?" he asked with a scowl and Arthur huffed out a startled laugh.

"No," they both said in unison, and Shack shook his head, grinning at his boss. Standing gracefully, he clapped Arthur on the shoulder and set down his glass. "I'll call Scrimgeour," he called over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "You stay as long as you like, Arthur."

Arthur smiled absently at the younger man's back, his eyes shadowed. Slowly, his gaze drifted back to the fire, and he sat there at the desk and gazed into the flames. The cut on his arm burned and another memory floated to the surface of his mind – this time, it was baby Charlie, lurching to his feet to take his first steps. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes, and willed his mind to quiet.

Then with a nod and a grimace, he set down his empty glass and pushed to his feet.

There was work to be done yet.

 

* * *

 

_The Fortress_

_Hirta Island, St. Kilna_

_Outer Hebrides, Scotland_

"Go over it again?" Bill asked, his eyes narrowed on the small object. He reached out a hand and carefully traced the carving of pentagram, the iron bitingly cold against his fingers.

"What's to go over?" Lou scowled. "They said it works." Bill raised his eyes to stare blankly at his teammate, and the Frenchman scowled. "The monks said that it can summon, trap, and control demons. That they have tested it."

Bill scoffed, his eyes going back down to the ring that lay on the table. "Would you call Voldemort a demon?" he asked mildly, and Alex snorted.

"If that foul creature isn't, what is?"

"Fair point," Bill murmured. He lifted the ring gently from the table and turned it over in his hand. "How did the Seal end up in a Nepalese temple?"

"Monks," Lou grumbled, shaking his head. "They like to meddle."

Bill rolled his eyes, closing his fist around the ring. He let out a slow, steady breath and closed his eyes, feeling the strange energy coming from the piece start to seep into his skin.

It felt almost like a star trying to burrow into him. Bloody fucking _hell_ , did it sting.

 _You're opening another door you can't close, Weasley,_ he thought to himself tiredly. _Keep putting all this crazy energy into yourself and you'll fucking explode._

The chilling voice laughed in his mind. He opened his eyes, looking away as he caught sight of Alex's worried gaze.

"Did they tell you anything about _how_ it works?"

Lou shook his head.

A shadow fell across the door and as Bill watched, Neville stepped into the room, his usually friendly face stony. "It chooses," he said simply, and Bill raised an eyebrow at the teen. "My gran," he explained with a frown. "She was obsessed with the legends of Solomon. I learned about these before I even went to Hogwarts."

"What do you mean, chooses?" Bill asked. The image of blue light, floating dust, a melted face rose up in his mind, and he pushed the memory away. "Chooses how?"

"It chooses those it deems worthy," the boy replied, his eyes still fixed on Bill's closed fist. "Wisdom, soul, righteousness."

"Well, I'm fucked, then," Bill muttered, quirking a slight grin, and Lou laughed.

"I was about to say that," his friend retorted, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You can feel it, though," Neville said, and Bill looked at him sharply.

"Does that mean something?"

"Yes," the only surviving Longbottom said softly. "Yes, it does."

 

* * *

 

_Forbidden Forest_

_Hogwarts_

"I just don't see any other way to keep them safe, Hagrid," Luna said softly, patting his giant hand with her tiny one as they walked down the winding pathway.

"It isn't that I don't agree," the half-giant replied, giving her a gentle smile. "It's just that the centaurs – well, they don't think like you and me, Luner. They see the world… differently, is all."

"But they are in danger," Luna pointed out simply, and Hagrid nodded.

"I just don't think they're going to listen to us."

"I have to try," the blonde Ravenclaw replied stubbornly, and Hagrid sighed.

"I understand, little Raven," he said, ruffling her hair gently – for him, at least. Luna beamed up at him even as she sank slightly into the soft ground under the weight of his hand. "And I'll be with yeh, every step of the way."

"You've stepped quite far enough," an imperious voice echoed, and Luna and Hagrid turned to see a black-haired centaur galloping through the trees.

"Hullo, Bane," Hagrid said nervously, forcing a smile, and Luna slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently.

"Hagrid," the centaur returned, his face set in a scowl. "We've told you that you are no longer welcome on this ground."

"Now, see here," Hagrid began. "We came to warn you – " Behind Bane, the undergrowth rustled, and the sound of hoof beats echoed through the Forest as the rest of the centaurs gathered.

"Warn _us_?" Bane demanded, his face twisting in a sneer. "We, who follow the stars themselves? What could you possibly warn us of that the stars have not already told?"

Over his shoulder, a golden bodied centaur appeared, and Luna smiled at Firenze as the centaur moved to stand close to her and Hagrid.

"Well, we, er – "

"Hagrid," Firenze cut him off gently. "Mars is blinding, my friend. Whatever warning you have is too late."

"But I – "

A sudden, sickening feeling swept through Luna, a ravenous hunger and hate. She felt her skin go cold, her eyes bright, and she shivered against the cool night air. Standing to her right, Firenze tensed, and she saw Bane's gaze sharpen on her face. The red-haired centaur at his side stared off into the trees to their left.

Hagrid let go of her hand and pulled his bow, his eyes fixed on the red-haired centaur.

"What is it, Ronan?" Hagrid asked, his voice shaking.

"Hagrid," Ronan replied, not turning his head. "Get the foal out of here."

Luna stared at him, her brow furrowed, even as the terrible thirst crept closer. "Excuse me, Mr. Centaur. I'm a girl, not a foal."

"You're a child," Bane snarled at her. "You have no business in war, and your foolish – "

"Bane!" Ronan cut the other centaur off, glaring at the black-haired being. "Hagrid, please. Get the foal, and _go. We cannot protect you here."_

"But – " Hagrid blustered, and suddenly, Luna felt a snarl tearing through the clearing.

" _Hagrid_!" she screamed, and the half-giant spun wildly, grabbing Luna's entire body in one hand and pulling her behind him. With a roar, he flung his right forearm up and the creature _bounced_ off his arm, flung backwards into a tree. Luna stared wide-eyed as another snarling being appeared in the darkness, eyes flashing and blood dripping from its teeth.

"No!" Ronan roared, and the centaur wrapped a hand around Luna's wrist, pulling her back. Behind her, the others were galloping about, arrows flying through the air as they took down as many assailants as they could. The centaur dragged her towards a copse of trees and shoved her behind an outcropping of rock, and she stared at the small centaur foals that blinked up at her.

"Stay. _Here_ ," Ronan hissed at them, and the tiny centaurs blinked and nodded. Turning to Luna, he fixed a stern gaze on her face, and she frowned back at him.

"Hagrid," she said simply.

Ronan set his face and nodded. "We will see you out of the Forest," he promised, and then he turned and canted away. Luna leaned against the rocks, peering through the cracks as the tiny foals gathered around her, huddled together and shaking in fear.

She couldn't _see_ anything. With a sigh, she reached up into her hair and tapped Celeste to wake her. The small moth stirred, buzzing quietly, then obediently flitted up into the sky.

There was Hagrid, just a few feet away, fighting back to back with the angry black centaur – _Bane_ , _how_ _appropriate_ , she thought. Firenze - he'd been such a good teacher – he was opposite them, cutting a path with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. As she watched, several of the creatures turned to smouldering piles of ash.

And then she felt it again. The ravenous hunger. And she looked up.

"Hello, precious," a voice hissed, and Luna felt a chill go down her spine. The man was leering down at them, his amber eyes flashing, saliva and blood dripping from his sharp teeth. Hanging from his neck was a chain of torn, bloodied ears, and in the center of the obscene necklace, a still bloodied eyeball hung.

The foals began to sob wildly, and Luna reached a hand behind herself, urging them back.

 

* * *

  
“We can't keep the Ministry locked out of here forever," Arthur said reasonably, scowling at the fireplace. "Unfortunately, corrupt though they are, they still have rights."

"Not on my grounds," Albus replied simply, smiling. "I'll simply pretend I've forgotten how to unlock the gates."

Arthur laughed, shaking his head. "How they still buy that doddering old man trick, I'll _never_ understand," he breathed.

"Oh," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes, "about the same way they buy that you're a weak, incompetent fool." He grinned widely when Arthur raised an eyebrow, then laughed himself. "Honestly, Arthur, I _was_ here when you and Tiberius had your first – disagreement. Others may have forgotten, but I haven't."

Arthur shrugged lightly, closing his eyes. "Simpler days."

"Simpler indeed," Dumbledore agreed, setting down his glass. "May I ask?"

"Ask what," the Weasley patriarch replied, leaning his head back in the chair. His eyes were still closed – Merlin, it was only just nearly 7 am, and he was already exhausted.

Although, perhaps the overcast sky had something to do with that. Where the sunrise should be, there was only grey on the horizon. What he wouldn't give for some _light._ Two weeks without was plenty long enough.

"William."

Slowly, Arthur opened his eyes. "I have no wish to continue arguing with you about my son, Albus," he said tiredly, staring up at the ceiling, and Dumbledore sighed.

"Is he in danger?"

Turning his head, Arthur studied his ex-Professor. The elderly man looked genuinely concerned, his normally cheerful eyes dark and somber. "I don't know," Arthur lied.

The Headmaster gazed back at him, winding the end of his beard absently around one finger. "Is he _a_ danger?"

"Albus," Arthur said flatly, and Dumbledore frowned.

"It's a legitimate question," the Headmaster argued.

Those same, now constant images flashed through his mind and suddenly, he could see Bill – reading Charlie a bedtime story when the toddler sulked because Molly was busy with the twins and Percy. Coaxing Ron to eat when the baby wouldn't switch to solid food. Helping Ginny sneak off to the orchard to practice flying.

Disintegrating a deadly ward around the kids in his living room with his bare hands. Refusing to turn and look at him when he reset the protections on his house. Bleeding when Brand held a knife to Harry's throat.

Verbally eviscerating him in the orchard. Holding cold compresses to his forehead in the spare room at Shell Cottage as he lay there, broken.

"I know my son," he said softly, and Dumbledore smiled at him sadly.

"I knew Gellert," the Headmaster replied simply, and Arthur closed his eyes.

"Albus, _I_ am more likely to – "

A sudden shrieking sound cut them off and Albus _jumped_ in his seat, spinning around wildly to stare at his shelf full of random knickknacks. Nearest the window, a small brass teapot sat on a purple cushion, and smoke was billowing out of the spout. Albus went pale, shooting Arthur a wide-eyed, startled look, and the pair shot to their feet to stare out of the window.

Just in time to see Remus Lupin vault out of the front doors and race towards the still pitch-black Forest.

"Blast," Arthur muttered angrily, and he spun on his heel and made for the doors.

 

* * *

 

Lupin rolled his shoulders and sighed as he moved across the second floor of Hogwarts. He'd spent _hours_ in the library, pouring over every tome he could find that so much as _mentioned_ the Nail, and – nothing.

Weeks, _weeks_ he had had the thing in his possession, and he'd been able to find little more than the common knowledge, unsubstantiated _rumors_ that surrounded the artifact. It was beginning to become rather bothersome.

He scowled to himself as he reached the top of the Great Staircase, shaking his head. Maybe he should try to sleep for a while. Dora would _kill_ him when she realized how many days he had –

An owl fluttered to a stop before him, and he frowned at the small creature, reaching out a careful hand. The tiny owl hooted feebily and thrust out its leg, shoving a small roll of parchment under his nose, close enough that the paper brushed his face. Remus chuckled lightly at the creature's odd behavior and carefully removed the small scroll.

_We're here. Forest. Child. NOW._

His heart thundered in his ears, and Remus _ran_.

 

* * *

 

Her eyes stung as she stared back at the crazed monster. She'd heard of Greyback, of course, but nothing could have prepared her for the pure hate she felt coursing through him. The thing – because there wasn't much man in him anymore, not really – was almost gleeful in his fury, gaining true delight in the terror he inspired.

It was, Luna thought to herself, rather distracting.

"Hello," she said in her simple sing-song. "We would really just like to go home now."

The beast laughed, and Luna smiled gently at him. At her side, the largest foal was trembling, and Luna felt the little boy centaur straighten his back and move closer to her, the others still crying behind them.

"Sweet, _sweet_ girl," another voice sounded, and Luna looked to the right to see a black-haired woman moving around the outcropping, her amber eyes shining in the darkness. The woman dragged her right hand along the rocks, her long nails scraping the surface. "There's only _one_ place you're going."

And reaching out with her left hand, the woman swiped her arm in an arc. In a flash, four foals collapsed, their throats sliced open, and the were woman smiled, raising her hand to her lips and lazily licking the blood from her nails.

" _Not. LUNER_!" a voice roared, and Luna jumped as the ground shook beneath her feet. Hagrid grabbed a fallen tree trunk and _swung_ , his face contorted with rage, and Luna felt a flash of fear run through the werewolf woman. Greyback simply scowled, diving aside, and landed in a rolling crouch as Hagrid turned and swung again. The five foals still standing backed away, the boy next to Luna grabbing her sleeve and tugging her back, and she stumbled backwards, her eyes fixed on Hagrid.

"You get away from 'er," Hagri growled at Greyback, and the creature grinned wildly.

"Oh, I could feast on you for _months_ ," Greyback breathed, licking his lips, and Hagrid snorted.

"Good luck, Mutt," he spat, and the gameskeeper took a step forward, raising the tree trunk above his head –

Then froze, his eyes wide, and his mouth hung slack as he gasped for breath. Behind him, a pale, slender being stood, its pure white eyes flashing. The creature's lips twisted in a smile and it locked its eerie eyes on Luna, then yanked its arm back. The smile disappearing, the vampire turned and gazed down at its hand, then held up its fist.

The heart he held was still thumping, frantically trying to pump to nowhere, and Luna screamed. In front of them, Hagrid fell to his knees, his eyes wide and sightless. He gurgled once then fell silent, pitching forward towards them. As Luna stared, stricken, the boy foal grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way. With a thud, and a billowing cloud of dust, Hagrid landed face down in the dirt.

The sound around her muffled in her ears as Luna stared down at her friend. Tears streaming down her face, she moved to go to him, but the boy yanked on her arm, shouting something she couldn't understand. What did it matter? Why should she care?

 _Oh, Harry, I'm sorry_ , she thought desperately, gasping for air. A guttural laugh cut through the haze in her mind, and she turned her head slowly, fixing Greyback with a steely glare.

"So this is what it feels like to hate," she whispered, and the were laughed harder. She narrowed her gaze on him, peripherally taking stock of their surroundings. The centaurs were all scattered, fighting with other vampires too far away to hear, to notice, and behind Greyback and the creature clothed in black silks. At least a dozen other vampires were creeping up on them, moving to form a semi-circle around Greyback and their leader, with countless others moving up the path. The female werewolf had moved back, her eyes darting between Hagrid and Greyback.

"Oh, little lamb," Greyback chortled. "You haven't seen _anything_ yet." Licking his lips, he took a step forward –

But from the side, something was coming. Luna stared as the sea of vampires parted, rushing back and scrambling over each other in their haste to get away from the path. She heard a sound like rushing wind then suddenly, a blurry figure _slammed_ into Greyback, sending him flying across the woods. He tumbled, the form above him pushing him down into the dirt, and roared as he shoved the figure off of him.

With his own snarl spilling from his throat, Remus Lupin stood, glaring down his childhood attacker.

"Think your pet vampires will help you now?" Lupin hissed. "Voldemort may have ordered you not to bite them," he smiled viciously, his teeth barred, "but he doesn't command me." With another low growl, he drew his wand and jabbed it at the sky, and Luna stared as the clouds began to part. Behind her, the two littlest foals whimpered as the vampires began to screech. Smoke started to billow off of the vampires, their skin sizzling, and as Luna watched, they turned their heads as one towards their leader.

The creature shook its head, and they all turned back, smoke still rising off their flesh.

A chill ran down her spine and Luna wrapped her arms around herself, starting when a shadow fell over her. She spun wildly, sagging with relief as she looked up into the somber blue eyes of Ronan. The centaur leaned over her and the foals, his eyes fixed on her Professor and Greyback. His arms were still outstretched, his bow held taut, and the arrow pointed straight at Greyback's heart.

"You must go now," Ronan whispered. "Take the foals. Get to Hogwarts. I will cover your escape."

Luna gazed up at the centaur, tears still flowing freely down her face. Her head was pounding, her skin crawling from all the rage and violence that surrounded her, all the _glee_ in causing pain. "I – I can't leave them, I," she began, and Ronan's brows drew together, his lips pursing. As he moved, the wind pulled on his side, revealing an entire strip torn out of his flank.

"You must go _now_ ," he hissed, and Luna swallowed, looking back over her shoulder.

"Careful, cub, you'll go feral like me," Greyback was taunting as the clouds thinned. Behind them, vampires were easing back, their eyes fixed on the sky as light began to break through the clouds.

"Luna!" Ronan whispered frantically, and Luna turned back, biting her lip. Her eyes burned and she nodded jerkily, letting out a shaky breath then turning towards her new companion. The brave little centaur boy held out his hand, and she laced her fingers through his and then reached out for the two baby foals. The smallest one, a girl, wept frantically as she struggled back to her feet from where she had curled into a ball. Spinning on her heel, Luna ducked under Ronan's outstretched arms and ran further into the woods, the three little hooved creatures following in her footsteps.

 

* * *

 

Lupin snarled, rage flooding through him as he glanced down and saw Hagrid's lifeless form on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blonde hair and Ronan nodded at him, face set. Luna had escaped with the foals. He nodded back and Ronan spun on his heel, following after Luna.

"What will your precious wizards think?" Greyback was whispering, the werewolf finishing up the same old taunt, eyes dancing with glee.

Lupin didn't bother to respond. A slash of his wand brought a tree branch hurtling down towards Greyback's head, and the werewolf cursed wildly, his face contorting with fury. "Your cheap parlor tricks again!" the monster growled. "Can't beat me in a _real fight,_ can ya, boy?"

Lupin smiled as the sun finally broke through the trees, and the vampires nearest him screamed as they went up in flames. Then just as suddenly, a shadow fell over the Forest, and Lupin felt a shiver of dread run through him.

Greyback laughed wildly and Lupin turned his head to gaze at the Cult leader. The figure stood motionless beside the rock outcropping, his hands raised, his head tilted back and gazing at the sky. As he stood, a sudden wind whipped up around him, leaves and debris swirling like a miniature whirlwind around his frame. The clouds raced backwards across the sky, shrouding them in darkness again, and Lupin swore under his breath.

"Time's up, cub," Greyback snarled. His amber eyes were fixed on Lupin's face, a wild hunger in his gaze. "I've spared you twice already."

"I think you have that backwards," Lupin said simply. With an elegant shrug, he sheathed his wand and smiled at the monster, quirking one eyebrow in a silent challenge. Asena had backed into the trees, he saw, the other vampires retreating with her, and Lupin's smile grew.

Maybe it _was_ good for something after all, he mused, feeling the solid weight in his pocket.

Then Greyback slammed into him, and he cursed himself, shaking his head as he fell into a nearby tree, spinning with the fall to keep his footing. _Sirius_ _would have had my_ _ **hide**_ _for that_ , he thought angrily, shaking his head to clear it as his ears rang.

The other werewolf charged at him, claws out, and dug one fist into Lupin's side, his sharp talons tearing open flesh. Lupin grunted as the pain seared through him, breathing slowly and rolling his shoulder, then lunges forward, knocking them both to the ground again. He reared back and leaned over the older creature, ramming his fist into Greyback's face, then pulled back again and swung once more. A rustling sounded behind him and he shot to his feet, spinning in time to catch the vampire flying at his back. He picked the creature up by its elbows and flung it towards a tree, feeling a rush of satisfaction when it was impaled on a branch. The bloodsucker hung limply from the branch, it's mouth slack and white eyes wide. He ducked as a pair swung at him, throwing himself on the ground and rolling, and came up in a crouch behind them. A quick summoning spell sent two twigs flying at the creatures' backs, and he stood slowly as they fell.

Greyback was standing opposite him, his eyes narrowed hatefully as he panted, blood gleaming on his teeth. The predator stepped forward, his mouth opening in a snarl, and Lupin grimaced. Echoing through the Forest, he could hear a skittering sound, as though hundreds of spiders were racing through the trees –

"I don't have time for this," he said wearily, and as Greyback laughed, he reached into his robes and drew out the Nail. The older werewolf froze, the blood draining from his face, and Lupin _lunged_. With a sudden burst of strength, he grabbed Greyback by the throat and threw him against a nearby tree. Pressing his elbow into the other were's throat, he drove the Nail through Greyback's collarbone, smiling grimly as he heard the bone snap. The skin around the Nail turned an instant, ashen grey, then began to peel and crumble away.

"No," Greyback gasped, his eyes wide, and Lupin heard Asena's sharp draw of breath. " _No_!"

Lupin just smiled, his eyes meeting Greyback's, and he looked steadily back at the monster that had killed him, so many years before. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped his hand around the end of the Nail and slowly, painstakingly, pulled it back out, then rammed it into the other side of Greyback's neck. The wolf howled in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and Lupin's blood went cold. Pulling the Nail loose once more, he took a step back, watching as Greyback fell to the ground.

He looked up, his face set, and his eyes moved over the semi-circle of vampires that surrounded him, all of them standing perfectly still, their gazes fixed on him. His entire frame was trembling with exhaustion, but he gritted his teeth, stepping forward as they began to shift in place –

Suddenly, Firenze broke through the trees, his hair wild, face frantic, and he spun, back to the vampires as he stared at the centaur. "We must go, Lupin, _now!"_ Firenze barked, and Lupin didn't waste time, sprinting after the centaur as he dove into the bushes.

 

* * *

 

" _What_ , then?" Bill asked angrily. "What does it mean?"

Neville smiled strangely. "Congratulations," he said softly, eyes fixed on the ring, and Bill felt a frisson of fear shoot through him. "Now you just need the Key."

"What?"

"The Key of Solomon," Lou said quietly, his face pale. "It is said to be Solomon's own spellbook."

Turning his head, Bill glared at his friend. "I thought you _just_ said the monks didn't know how to – "

"It was entrusted to a student of theirs, many decades ago," Louis scowled. "They don't know what she did with it."

"What student?" Alex asked, frowning. Her purple hair fell over her faced as she spun slightly in her chair.

"Cassandra Vablatsky."

Bill stiffened, a flash of disbelief running through him. He looked up, meeting Neville's shocked gaze, and in the back of his mind, he could hear Percy scoffing. _What would you have me do? Leave her to the Dementors?_

"We have to find Audrey Munroe," Neville said softly.

"Before Voldemort does," Bill finished.

And before he could draw a breath, the ground shook, the torches flickered out, and the Map began to shriek.

 

* * *

  
She stumbled through the Forest, her skirt catching on roots and branches as she ran, tearing cloth and skin here and there. Beside and behind her, the small hoof beat patterns continued, and she gasped for breath as they raced on. Coming to a hill, she slipped, landing on her hands and knees, and Elias held out his small hands, pulling her to her feet. She grasped his hands in one of hers and squeezed, then lurched to her feet and turned, eyes fixed on the trees behind them.

"Keep moving!" Ronan roared, galloping behind them, and he overtook them quickly, scooping up the small, struggling foal girl in one arm. He swung her around and she landed sideways on his back, her hands disappearing into his hair to wrap her arms around his neck as she sobbed wildly. With a scowl, the centaur raised his bow, letting loose a flurry of arrows as the creatures came racing out of the woods.

"I can't leave Remus!" Luna screamed, skidding to a halt, and she stared at the trees, willing her mentor to appear.

"We have to go, _now_ ," the centaur growled, and Luna shook her head. Taking a step forward, the centaur glared harshly at her, and –

Two small figures appeared at the edges of the trees, and Luna let out a cry of relief as Lupin came into view. The centaur stepped up beside her, his face set as dozens of other figures followed on their heels.

"Time's up," he said gently, resting a hand on her arm. Luna felt tears welling up in her eyes again as she looked down at Lupin and Firenze. The vampires behind them were too close. They weren't going to make it.

So she tilted back her head towards the sky, put her fingers in her mouth, and whistled.

 _Help us_ , she thought frantically.

Sound faded again and she could see Lupin shouting something, could feel Elias tugging at her – then suddenly she heard it. The eerie, ethereal cry, the sound of air rushing through torn wings. She smiled grimly as the thestrals appeared overhead, soaring over the trees towards the vampires. With angry, haunting cries, the undead horses dove at the vampires, hooves kicking and teeth snapping, and Luna felt a surge of relief. One of the thestrals landed beside her – Chester, the one she had ridden just months before – and she pulled an apple from her pocket and offered it, jumping up on his back. Down below, Lupin had jumped onto another thestral, and Firenze was taking advantage of the chaos to gallop towards Ronan and the foals.

As the vampires and thestrals screeched, Luna held on for dear life, bending over Chester's back and burying her face in his neck.

 

* * *

  
He could feel it before he saw it – a horrible surge of energy, coming from the Forest. Swallowing harshly, Harry wrapped a hand around his Communication Pendant and focused. Neville answered immediately. He was at the fortress with Bill, Lou, and Alex, working on defenses. Ginny didn't just answer, she came racing up from the dungeons with Krum. Ron had stopped on the second floor, staring out a window over the grounds.

With his heart thudding in his ears, Harry moved to the window, staring out at the grounds. A huge, blood-red translucent dome had appeared in the sky, hovering over the entire school. As he stared, Shacklebolt joined him, his face set and his jaw clenched.

"Please tell me you did that," the ex-Auror rumbled quietly, and Harry shook his head. Turning, he drew his wand and headed down the stairs, stopping in his tracks as the huge wooden door creaked open, a blonde missile shooting through the opening.

"Harry," Luna sobbed, and he let out an "oof" as she hurtled into him, flinging herself into his arms. The slight blonde wept into his shoulder, digging her nails into his arms as she stood there, shaking. Over her shoulder, he met Hermione's bewildered gaze, glancing over at Greengrass for a moment before frowning. The blonde Slytherin girl was staring at the front doors, her blue eyes rimmed with amber. The clattering of hooves echoed off the stone steps, and as Harry stared, Ronan and Firenze galloped into the hall, their chests bloody and torn. Between them were three small foals, their flanks marred with blood and dirt. A pair of thestrals brought up the rear, smoke bursting from their nostrils, their tails and wings singed.

"Shack!" a hoarse voice echoed, and Remus Lupin appeared on the front steps, his already tattered robes torn to shreds. Harry gaped at the man, his heart thudding in his ears. A huge gash ran down the side of Lupin's face, he had a puncture in his neck, and part of his shoulder was _missing_. "Get the headmaster." The lycanthrope scaled the steps three at a time then crossed into the entrance hall, slamming the heavy wooden doors shut behind himself. Harry jumped in spite of himself, glancing back over his shoulder to meet the gaze of a stricken Kingsley Shacklebolt, frozen on the staircase. The ex-Auror was staring down at Lupin, his mouth hanging open in shock at the other man's appearance.

Turning to face Harry, Lupin smiled sadly. "Time's up," the ex-Professor murmured, his eyes flashing amber.

* * *

A/N: oh, I'm sorry, did I say the story was halfway done? I meant book 1 is almost over. My bad.

Apologies for the delay in posting. I'm a just a genius… I decided to move 2,000 miles across the country and start a new, very demanding job right after Thanksgiving.

Also, Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Chaunakah, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus, National Cookie Exchange Day… whatever you celebrate…. Here! Have a horrendous loss and a cliffhanger! (Does it helps that I cried writing it?)

For my FFN readers, I know I don't reply to every review, but I want you to know I DO appreciate them. (AO3 readers, they make it too easy to talk with you on here, so I know you know I love hearing from you!) I love to hear your thoughts, opinions, and guesses. Knowing that this crazy little tale that has somewhat warped my mind is interesting to more than just me? That is a true gift. So thank all of you.

There's just a little longer to go in installment 1. Take a deep breath, y'all. And maybe grab the tissues.

~*~ALIBI


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